


Beguiled Again

by Vera_dAuriac



Series: Bright College Years [3]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Benjamin Tallmadge/Alexander Hamilton, Benjamin Tallmadge/Freddy Morgan, Bondage, Crossdressing, Drinking, Hooking up, Knife Play, M/M, Mid 90s, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Yale - Freeform, academic espionage, academic wankery, background Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert Lafayette, past Benjamin Tallmadge/Nathan Hale - Freeform, past Benjamin Tallmadge/Peggy Shippen, romanticized smoking, some of them are kinky, various sexual acts it would take too long to list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-08-02 01:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16295615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: It’s the start of Ben’s senior year at Yale, but his plans for a senior thesis are threatened when his advisor, Benedict Arnold, runs off to work for John Andre at Columbia. Ben’s only hope for his academic future is Professor George Washington. Will he find more than just an advisor in Washington? Academic espionage, hijinks, pining, and hookups ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely people who have cheered me on while I write this. Also, thanks to my hubby, a Yale grad, who is the only reason I know enough to write this. Please know that as much as he has helped, any inaccuracies about life at Yale in the mid 90s are entirely my own. (Or intentional literary license.) 
> 
> There are two stories that come before this one in the Bright College Years series. They are referenced here, but you do not have to read them to understand and appreciate this fic. Just know that Ben dated Nathan Hale and hooked up with Peggy Shippen.
> 
> More tags may be added as I post.
> 
> I don’t own these folks, but they are awfully fun to play with.

**By Vera d'Auriac**

 

Ben couldn’t be happier to be back at Yale. His summer break had been a mix of the dull (helping out at the church while the secretary was on maternity leave) to the ridiculous (a week with Abe and Caleb drinking their way down the AC boardwalk). But he had spent more time thinking about his senior thesis than anything else. He’d even sent several e-mails to his advisor, Dr. Arnold. It always took Dr. Arnold awhile to reply, and Ben suspected his favorite TA in the department, Peggy Shippen, answered most of them, but Ben had been disappointed not to hear anything in response to the e-mail he had sent at the end of July about a new source he’d found. So, as soon as he and his parents finished unloading the car and they headed back to Setauket, Ben went straight to the English Department.

It wasn’t surprising to find Linsly-Chittenden, LC, practically empty the week before classes started, but Ben had been hopeful nonetheless. Still, the only person in the department office was a bored work study student, and when Ben ventured down the hallway to Arnold’s office, the door was closed and the lights off. None of which struck Ben as a big deal until a ray of sunshine peeked through the window and Ben caught a glimpse of the interior of the office. He pressed his face to the tiny window in the door, certain he could not have seen correctly.

The office was empty—no books, no papers, no mortar and pestle Arnold had inherited from his pharmacist father. Just blank bookshelves and a clear desk with the chair neatly pushed in. When Ben stepped back, he realized the nameplate holder on the wall held no name.

 _What the fuck. Where is he? Did he move offices? Yeah. He probably got a bigger office. The student back in the main office probably knows_.

Taking a deep breath, he headed back down the hallway, but now that he wasn’t so entirely focused on getting to Dr. Arnold’s office, he noticed an open office door. Ben hurried to Dr. Lee’s office, and bless him, the man sat behind his gouged and scratched desk, stacks of books holding down each corner like castle fortifications. Ben tapped lightly on the doorframe and smiled when Dr. Lee peered up.

“Dr. Lee. Hi. I was just looking for Dr. Arnold. Is he in a new office?”

Dr. Lee scanned Ben with a frown, and no broadening of his own smile had any effect on Dr. Lee’s mood. “Dr. Arnold’s new office is in New York City.”

Ben felt the blood drain from his face even as his heart sped up. “Pardon?”

“New York City. You probably came through there on your way here.” Lee paused and then sighed dramatically before continuing. Throughout, Ben held his breath, wondering what sort of bizarre joke Lee was telling. “He rather unexpectedly left us at the beginning of the month to accept a job at Columbia.”

“But he was my advisor for my senior thesis.” Ben’s jaw tightened as he recalled Arnold’s completely empty office. “Where did he leave what was in his office that he didn’t take with him?”

Dr. Lee shrugged. “You can have a look inside and see if he left something there—it’s probably not locked—but I have no idea. Maybe Jeri knows. As far as a new advisor, well,” Dr. Lee leaned forward in his squeaky chair, showing real interest for the first time since Ben arrived. “I would be happy to advise you. Addison’s _Cato_ , correct?”

Ben didn’t know what to say, the idea that all his notes and books he’d lent Arnold might be gone overwhelming him with the urge to hit something very hard. “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Dr. Lee.”

He stormed back down the hallway and found Dr. Lee had been right about one thing—the door wasn’t locked. Once inside, he stood in the dark, trying to catch his breath, trying to convince himself that when he flipped on the light, somehow the emptiness would be filled by books and binders and computer discs. But when he turned the light on—nothing. The short bookshelves under the window sat empty, and the table behind him mocked him with its bareness. Ben walked behind the shiny pressed wood and metal desk and pulled open all the drawers. The bottom right was full of hanging file folders, but all of them slouched open with nothing inside. Otherwise, it didn’t appear as though Arnold had left behind so much as a paperclip.

Ben rushed to the department office, reminding himself along the way that none of this was the fault of the work study student who he was tempted to rip into until he found answers. Luckily for the student, she had been joined by Jeri, thus avoiding his potential if unintended wrath. It was even more fortunate for him—Jeri always knew what was happening and had a kind heart to boot, always sneaking sleep deprived students coffee from the faculty pot.

“Jeri, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Ben! So good to have you back! How was your summer?”

“Fine. Did Dr. Arnold leave anything for me before he left?”

Jeri clenched the jaws under her round, rosy cheeks. Ben realized that in spite of the lunacy students and faculty must regularly put her through, this was the first time he’d seen her anything other than cheery, and she was now down right mad. “The only thing Dr. Arnold left behind was chaos. I don’t know that we’ll get all of his classes covered, even with the senior faculty agreeing to teach things they haven’t in decades.”

“But he had to have left something. A single box somewhere, tucked in a corner.” But Jeri just shook her head, and while he fought not to yell, he could feel it getting close. “I left a bunch of my notes and other research with him. Two computer discs, a couple three-ring binders, and some books.”

But Jeri’s frown only increased. “He took _everything_. Include my Handsome Dan mug I let him borrow.”

 _Gone. Years of work, gone. Sources compiled, notes made, ideas outlined. “A new angle on a piece of literature sure to get published,” Dr. Arnold had said. All gone. I will go to New York and kick his door in on his head and take it back by force if I have to. I just cannot fucking believe he did this to me. I thought…. Well, fuck what I thought, apparently_.

“Peggy Shippen is supposed to be stopping by later,” Jeri said, resting her hand on his arm, which he now saw was actually shaking, he was so mad. “If anyone knows something, it would be her.”

Ben nodded and once more tried to calm himself. “Thanks for the heads up. I think I’ll hang around and see if I can catch her.”

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Thanks, Jeri, but no. I need some fresh air. I’ll wait for her outside.”

For a while, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, Ben paced the path outside LC in the shade of the trees, fuming about all the possibilities of what may have become of his work. One possibility, Arnold took it with him, either to steal it for himself or in haste. If it were the latter, Ben could run down to the city and get it, or even ask Caleb to run it up over the weekend. If Arnold stole it for his own use, Ben didn’t know what he would do—accusing a professor of stealing his idea as an undergraduate wasn’t something that would probably get him far in academia, which is where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. But the thought of allowing Arnold to just have his idea and his hard work made Ben nauseous with fury. Of course, he could have left it with someone here in New Haven, and since it hadn’t been Jeri, Peggy was the most likely candidate. The last option was that his photocopies had ended up in a trashcan and his books in some library book sale. Having to reconstruct all his work made him exhausted just thinking about it.

Because _Cato_ wasn’t something he had just become interested in—it had been an obsession for years. In seventh grade, he’d developed a passion for ancient Rome that had never been replaced by another interest, although it was eventually matched by his love of 18 th Century literature. So after spending his senior year of high school falling in love with Swift and Defoe, when he had unearthed Joseph Addison’s play, Ben had been smitten. It didn’t matter that it was a nearly forgotten play no one studied seriously and certainly no reputable theater company would perform. Addison’s play about the defender of the Roman Republic was his truest love and had been for years as he collected books and articles related to play and playwright. But now with the exception of his personal copy of the play that he rarely went anywhere without, all of it was gone.

Starting to sweat, Ben took a seat on the rail fence as close at he could get to the door while still having some shade. He began mentally compiling a list of books and articles he would need to replace, since that seemed like a more sound idea than trying to guess how long it would take Abe and Caleb, both in New York City, to figure out where Arnold lived. Or at least where is his office was. Abe could certainly find his office—he was starting at Columbia Law school this semester, so he would have a legitimate reason to be wandering academic buildings. And Caleb, well, he wouldn’t give a fuck about having a legitimate reason. Would he get fired from his job on the _Intrepid_ if campus security threw him off the Columbia campus?

Before he could contemplate the repercussions of Caleb’s theoretical banishment from Columbia, Ben saw Peggy walking up the path in front of McClellan Hall. He jumped off the fence and made directly for her. “Hey, Peggy,” he called. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She scowled at him and maintained her path toward the door of LC, but he stepped in her way. With a sigh, she changed course for the fence and plopped herself atop it, before flicking her cigarette in the direction of a nearby ashtray. As worked up as he was about his missing research, he still couldn’t help taking a moment to appreciate the fact she was the most beautiful woman at Yale, and one of the smartest. He still couldn’t believe sometimes that he’d managed to hook up with her the previous year at the English faculty Christmas party. Nothing more had ever come of it, which was fine by him, but as an English grad student and TA, they had seen each other a lot and had always been friendly. Her coldness now rather surprised him.

He sat next to her on the fence, suddenly wondering how to start, but she launched into the obvious topic for him. “Well, here I am. Talk. Unless it’s about B.A., because I know nothing. He left and said he never wanted to see any of us again. He was done with Yale and with the people here.”

“But what about my stuff?” Ben asked, as confused about Peggy’s attitude as he was about everything else that had happened to him since arriving at LC. “Did he leave any of it—books, computer discs, binders—with you?”

Peggy snorted. “He left me nothing but miserable. Look, Ben, I’m just on campus to fill out paperwork so I can take a semester off and figure out my own problems. I’ve spent the last three weeks having a complete mental breakdown and I have a dissertation hanging over my head, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t know what happened to the Xerox copies covered in your pink highlighter.”

Of course, it now dawned on Ben that if the rumors were true—that Peggy and Arnold were sleeping together—she was probably heartbroken. “I’m really sorry you haven’t been well. But you went to Columbia. Do you have a phone number for someone there who might help me track Dr. Arnold down?”

“Ben, listen to me—I have nothing that can help you. B.A. doesn’t want to hear from you. Your shit is gone, because he’s too stupid to keep it. Go ask Dr. Lee to be your advisor and move the fuck on.”

Ben swallowed and thought about his breathing, not wanting to scream the obscenities he longed to hurl at Peggy. _I get that she’s dealing with her own shit here, but does she really not understand? I have lost all my work, the work of years. And there’s no other 18 th Century specialist in the English Department. Dr. Lee? Ha! He occasionally plays at the late 18th Century, but his real focus is Victorian lit. Useless. I might as well not do a senior thesis as write it with him_. “Yeah, I’ll think about it,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “See you around.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inside baseball Yale stuff:  
>  A senior thesis is an option at Yale instead of taking a senior seminar course. The vast majority of students take the class. Only massive overachievers choose to do what is essentially a Masters level thesis their senior year instead.  
>  All students refer to Linsly-Chittenden Hall as LC, because what a mouthful. The rail fence is a Yale tradition, although the one Ben and Peggy sit on is not the original.  
>  Handsome Dan is the name of Yale’s bulldog mascot.
> 
> Original characters in this fic will often be named after people my husband I knew at college. Jeri was a secretary in the building that housed the English Department and the office where I worked. She was unfailingly kind and always happy. She died from a blood clot after surgery a couple weeks before I graduated.
> 
> UPDATE (Oct. 23, 2018)  
>  It was brought to my attention that I never mentioned why CATO, and why CATO is important. As Ben says, it’s a nearly forgotten play. In fact, pretty much the only people who still give it any thought are historians of late 18th Century America. Joseph Addison’s play was a huge hit in Colonial America, much beloved by Patriots for its story of a principled man standing up against tyranny. It was famously George Washington’s favorite play, and he even had it performed for the army the winter they spent at Valley Forge. Nathan Hale’s supposed final words that he regretted having only one life to lose for his country, whether he said them or they were later put in his mouth by a friend, were inspired by dialogue from CATO, a play Hale was extremely familiar with and likely would have been able to quote from memory. If a student were actually writing a thesis about this play today, its significance to American Revolutionaries would almost certainly be mentioned, although I’ve decided it would be too awkward to have Professor Washington talking about George Washington at Valley Forge, so I’m skipping that here. Although, Ben’s study of filial love in the play would certainly apply to the real Washington and his relationship with his men and America as a whole. Read the play for free at Project Gutenberg.


	2. Chapter 2

All it had taken was the promise of a pack of smokes to convince Anna day drinking was their best course of action. Settled into a booth at the Anchor, she smacked the fresh pack against the palm of her hand before ripping the cellophane off the American Spirits he’d bought next door at The Owl Shop. After lighting one for herself and offering another to Ben, which he gratefully accepted, Anna took a long drink of her whiskey sour.

“I just want to reiterate that Arnold always creeped me out,” Anna said.

Ben ashed with more vehemence than was called for, but he didn’t care at this exact moment. “Yes. Your feelings on Dr. Arnold are well documented.”

“Did you ever stop and pay attention to the way he looked at Peggy? I’m telling you, when I saw how he looked at her when you dragged me to that reception at the British Art Center last year, it was gross.”

Ben rubbed a hand down his face, not really wanting to listen to Anna tell him yet again that she never liked the professor he had so disastrously attached his future to. Of course, she was right, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about it right now. “Everyone knew they were fucking.”

“I don’t care if they were fucking. You don’t look at a woman with that sort of lecherous sneer.”

“You know, I usually do my best to appreciate your feminist rage, but right now I just really need to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do about my thesis.”

Anna took a deep drag on her cigarette. As she exhaled, she said, “You could always scrap your thesis and take the senior seminar like a normal fucking person.”

The idea had crossed Ben’s mind after he had calmed down a bit from his talk with Peggy. The vast majority of people took a normal class in their final year, ignoring the slightly insane option of a senior thesis, which was usually twice as much work for the same requirement. But the thesis was an opportunity to intensively study a passion, and all Ben had wanted to do since his senior year of high school was study _Cato_. He took several sips of his own whiskey sour and a couple drags off his cigarette. Yet, with all this stalling, all he could come up with was, “But _Cato_.”

Anna shook her head and sighed as she leaned back against the not quite teal vinyl upholstery of the booth. “Then start putting together your resources again. And learn to make backups of your discs.”

Once more confronted with the notion of recreating years’ worth of research so he could write the biggest paper of his life in the span of a single school year, Ben wanted to scream. Or throw shit. Maybe hit something. “Even if I manage to pull that off, I don’t have an advisor.”

“Arnold wasn’t the only professor in the English Department, you know.”

“But he was the only 18th Century specialist. I can’t do this with some random professor. I need someone who knows 18th Century drama, and there are now zero people fitting that description in the English Department.”

Through the haze of her cigarette smoke, Ben saw Anna raise an eyebrow. “Then don’t look for an advisor in the _English_ Department.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean Washington. You loved his early American drama class last year. If I’m not mistaken from all the endless monologues on his talents and virtues I’ve had to listen to you spew, he’s an 18th Century drama specialist.”

“But he’s in the Theater Department.”

“So the fuck what?”

Anna’s suggestion struck Ben so unexpectedly, he could only stare at her for several moments. When he finally moved, it was to bring his cigarette to his mouth, but in his daze, he hadn’t realized how long the ash had gotten, and a clump fell on the table. “Yeah, I liked Washington,” Ben said, wiping the ash into his hand so he could toss it in the ashtray. _I liked him a lot. And not just because he’s brilliant, although he is so brilliant. Fuck. Not telling Anna how much I really like Washington. Like_ like _Washington_. “But the English Department will never go for it.”

“Given the circumstances, I don’t see why not. You wouldn’t be the first person to have a senior thesis advisor outside of your department.”

“Really? Who else has?”

Anna took the last drag from her smoke before squashing it out. “Dammit, I don’t remember exactly. Jessica was telling me about someone her sister knew when she was here.”

“You’re just making this up.”

“The fuck I am. Besides, even if I were, it’s still a good idea and it costs you nothing to ask.” Anna squeezed his hand where it rested on the table. “I know how much this means to you. Go talk to Washington tomorrow. He might be able to help.”

***

Ben smoothed his hair down in the back as he climbed the stairs to the Theater Department offices. Just as he had promised Anna yesterday, he was determined to ask Professor Washington to be his senior thesis advisor. But he found himself questioning the sanity of this decision. Why would Washington want to waste his time on a student not even in his department, even if the English Department eventually okayed this? He was one of the most respected teachers on a campus famous for remarkable teachers. Attending his seminar the previous semester had been like being blessed to go to worship service every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Washington inhabited a different dimension than mere mortals with his clever mind and soothing voice and strong jaw. As Ben took a deep breath that he hoped would calm his nerves, he also tried not to think about the fact he just straight up had a crush on Washington.

He probably shouldn’t ask Professor Washington to be his advisor. In his life (often with Caleb and Abe’s help, to be sure), Ben had made countless bad decisions, but throwing himself on the mercy of a professor he’d once had a dirty dream about was the worst. He should leave and just take the senior seminar. There was always grad school. His ideas for _Cato_ were so original, they could be a dissertation; Arnold had said so. And then Ben sighed, remembering that he could not dismiss the possibility Arnold had taken his research intending to publish something himself on _Cato_ , and Ben knew he couldn’t wait on this paper.

 _But does Washington even remember you? And if he does, can you say he remembers you fondly? Fuck, your life is a giant fucking mess. Maybe you should at least wait until next week. Washington probably isn’t even around_.

But before Ben could decide whether or not he wished to affect a retreat, he heard his name being called from down the hall.

“Ben! How’s it going?”

Alex Hamilton, Washington’s grad assistant, was happily striding down the hallway toward Ben, a smile on his face and arms full of books. Ben had gotten to know him pretty well his sophomore year when Alex TA’ed Ben’s section of a drama overview lecture. Last semester, they’d even shared a couple beers when Ben had run into Alex and his boyfriend, Gilbert, who was an English grad student and occasional French TA, since it was his native language. Ben liked Alex, and he seemed like one of the few people on the planet not intimidated by Professor Washington. Their running into each other, in point of fact, was quite fortuitous.

“Hey. I’m good. By any chance, do you have a minute?”

“That’s funny,” Alex said with his infectious smile. “I was going to ask if you had a minute, and not just because I need help opening my office door.”

Ben started, realizing they were just outside the office Alex shared with a couple of TA’s. He tired turning the handle, but it was locked. “Key?”

“In my pocket,” Alex said, turning to offer his front right pocket. Ben hesitated and Alex laughed. “Or you could hold the books and I’ll get the key.”

“Oh, right.”

Under this eminently more suitable arrangement, they were inside Alex’s office a moment later, books spilled across his desk, and both settled into chairs. “Can you keep a secret, Ben?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose.”

“And you’re 21, right?”

Ben laughed, wondering why Alex could possibly care. _He’s not about to offer me a drink_. But that was exactly what happened once Ben answered in the affirmative and closed the door.

“I’m guessing the school would frown on grad students drinking in their offices, but I doubt anything would come of it if they found out.” Alex passed Ben a coffee mug with a screwdriver inside, the ingredients taken from the minifridge in the corner. “But they’d probably be pissed if I was giving booze to underage students.”

“Sounds about right.”

“So,” Alex said, settling back with his own special coffee mug, “when did you get back?”

“Yesterday.”  


“I take it you’ve heard about Arnold?”

Ben drank slowly, wondering how much of his personal story to bore him with, since he must have heard everything from Gilbert already. “I found out yesterday when I stopped by his office.”

“You should’ve been here a few weeks ago when it happened. I tell you, there’s never been that much excitement over summer break before.”

“What really happened?”

Alex took a deliberate drink while Ben guzzled nervously. “As far as what occurred, it was pretty straightforward. On a Friday, Arnold was a professor, and on Monday his office was empty. He slipped his resignation under Dr. Reed’s door over the weekend. As far as _why_ ….” And here Alex paused and drank long, his eyebrows rising on the other side of the mug. “The _why_ has provided quite a bit of speculation. What have you heard?”

“Nothing.” Ben shrugged. Alex looked askance at him, so Ben related the useless details of his visit to the English Department office the day before.

“So, Peggy Shippen is taking a semester off? Interesting.”

Following this declaration, Alex draped one leg over the other and sipped his drink. Ben simply stared at him for as long as he could stand Alex’s pause, before blurting out, “But what actually happened? What are people saying? Is anyone still in touch with him?”

“Oh, there’s all manner of speculation. Arnold had a fight with the department chair. The president of the college is blackmailing him. The president of _Columbia_ is blackmailing him. He slept with a TA. Well,” Alex chuckled, “that much is true, but no one gives a crap if professors sleep with their TA’s. But no one knows for sure why or when he received the offer from Columbia. It wasn’t an open position that had been advertised. And no, there’s no one who’s still in touch. At least no one is admitting to it.”

“In other words, no one knows a damned thing.” Ben slammed his empty coffee mug down on the desk nearest him.

Alex’s eyebrow shot up once more. “You seem more upset than anyone else I’ve talked to. Until now, Washington held the top spot.”

Ben felt the deepest gratitude when Alex took his mug and got to work pouring him another drink as it allowed him time to start making sense of this piece of information. Had Professor Washington liked Dr. Arnold particularly? Had he _liked_ him? Dr. Arnold, of course, had been sleeping with Peggy and had been since not long after the Christmas party when Ben had hooked up with her. But that did not preclude Washington from having feelings for Arnold. Now that Ben thought about it, he had never heard mention of Professor Washington’s sexual proclivities. At this point, anything was possible. Realizing he was lost in his own thoughts and should speak, Ben said, “I didn’t know.”

“If you want to commiserate with Washington, he’d probably be happy to do so. There were plenty of people glad to see the back of Arnold, however it happened, but Washington had a weird fondness for Arnold. They were on a lot of the same faculty committees, so I guess that explains it.”

“So, Professor Washington might be in contact with Dr. Arnold?”

“As upset as he seemed by Arnold’s departure, I would guess not. You really seem intent on getting in touch with Arnold.”

“He took, or God forbid threw away, most of my senior thesis notes. So, yes, I want to talk to Dr. Arnold. And Washington, too, actually.”

Alex handed him another drink. “Wow. I always thought Arnold was an asshole, but that’s a whole new level.” He shook his head and gave Ben a sympathetic frown before he continued. “But I can tell you that Washington will be happy to see you. He tries to hide how he feels about his students, and I don’t think anyone else can read him quite like I can, but I promise you, he actually likes you.”

Like an embarrassed child, Ben could feel his face flush. Unable to stop the rush of warmth to his cheeks, he pressed the coffee mug to his lips in hopes of covering it. “That’s nice to know, but I’m still not sure he will want to see me.” After a swift but large gulp, Ben set his mug down and leaned forward. “Can I tell you what I want to ask him, and you can tell me if it’s a terrible idea?”

Alex set his own mug down and also leaned forward, elbows on knees, expression grave. “Absolutely. What’s on your mind, Ben?”

“With Dr. Arnold gone, I no longer have an advisor for my senior thesis or most of my notes, but I still want to write it. Do you think there is any chance Professor Washington would be willing to consider being my advisor, even though I’m from a different department?”

Alex stared at Ben for a minute, his lips quirked, and Ben realized his confession may have genuinely surprised him. “What’s your thesis?”

“Themes of filial love in Joseph Addison’s _Cato_.”

Alex whistled. “That’s so up his damned alley, it hurts. There’s no one in the English Department who could be your advisor, I suppose?”

“With Arnold gone, no one who knows 18th Century theater like Professor Washington.”

“Well, even with Arnold here, there was no one in the English Department who knew 18th Century theater like Washington.” Alex drank slowly, thoughts clearly churning as he did so. Ben drank his own screwdriver to fill the tense pause. “You know,” Alex finally said, “I think he’d do it.”

***

Ben could see Washington’s door open, a soft light spilling out into the hallway. He still felt a little nervous, but decidedly less so thanks to Alex’s reassurance and the screwdrivers. _Lord. It’s not even noon. Thank God Alex had breath mints as a chaser for the cocktails_. Just outside the door, he took a deep breath and then knocked on the doorframe.

“Professor Washington?” Ben asked tentatively from the doorway. Washington sat behind his desk, his left hand marking his spot in an open notebook while he compared it to something on his computer screen. _Oh God. I’m interrupting. He’s going to say no_.

But much to Ben’s surprise, Professor Washington looked over at him and a small, but genuine smile curved his lips. “Benjamin. Very good to see you.”

“Nice to see you, too, sir. I hope I’m not interrupting. If I am, I can come back some other time.”

“Not a bit. Please come in.”

Ben took two tentative steps into the snug office. The old wooden desk took up most of the area, space only for a worn metal chair with a green cushioned seat at its side and bookshelves that went from floor to ceiling along the wall opposite from where Washington sat and along all the available wall space next to the door. And yet even though it was cramped, it was the neatest professor’s office Ben had ever seen. 

“What’s on your mind?” Washington asked, leaning back on a well-loved office chair of brown leather. “Did you want to close the door?”

Ben hesitated, wondering how private this conversation should be. He finally decided to close the door when he realized it lessened his potential embarrassment when Washington refused him. Door closed, Washington gestured to the green chair, and Ben settled in, if his awkward shifting could have been called settled. “So,” Ben started, wishing he had given anything thought to how he would word this request, “I know you’re aware of Dr. Arnold’s sudden departure.”

Professor Washington’s amiable demeanor faded, smile slipping from his lips, eye contact broken. “Yes. I am very disappointed in his behavior.”

“As am I. You see, he was supposed to be my senior thesis advisor. But he didn’t just leave me without an advisor—he took most of my research and notes.”

Professor Washington shook his head, jaw clenched, clearly holding back what he really thought of Dr. Arnold. “I cannot imagine what Columbia wants with a faculty member who would act in this manner. And I am extremely sorry for you, Benjamin. I fear your research may be irretrievable. He has answered no communication sent by anyone from here.”

Ben clenched his fists, fighting back the urge to scream as the possibility of recovering years of work slipped further away from him. “I am trying to resign myself to that,” he forced out through a tight jaw. “But I still want to try and write my senior thesis anyway.”

“That’s very dedicated of you. I’m sure once you get into the flow of the research again, the ideas will rapidly return. You’re a very bright student, Benjamin.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a great deal coming from you.” _Now just fucking spit it out_. After straightening himself in his chair, much as he had done as a boy when his father tested him on his Latin grammar, Ben said, “I’ve always enjoyed your classes and your insights, which is why I was hoping that, even though I’m an English major, you might be willing to be my new advisor.”

Professor Washington’s head tilted ever so slightly, but that was the only indication he made for several long beats that he had heard Ben. At last he asked, “Is there no one in your department you can ask? Surely all the professors are willing to pitch in and take on extra work, including advisees, in these exceptional circumstances.”

Ben slouched a little, unsurprised Washington wasn’t interested. “There isn’t one who really knows my topic, sir.”

“Which is?”

“Addison’s _Cato_. No one else in the department specializes in 18 th Century lit, and certainly not 18th Century theater, but you, sir, well, surely you can see why I was hopefully you might be willing to consider someone outside your department.”

Washington laced his fingers together as he rested them in the middle of his desk. Once he had studied Ben for an interminable length of time, the line of his mouth always growing thinner, he said, “Have you discussed going outside of the department with anyone in your department?”

Ben silently cursed himself for not swinging by LC this morning before coming here, as he had debated. “I’m sorry, sir. I figured I’d talk to Dr. Reed if you agreed, but I didn’t know if I should bother the department chair until I found out if you were willing. But here I am wasting your time without knowing if Dr. Reed is okay with it.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. I simply wondered where things stood. In fact, you likely selected the more useful order. A tenured full professor, such as myself, is more difficult to say no to than an undergraduate, no matter how bright.”

Ben could feel his face flush with flattery and even more so with excitement. “So, you’ll be my advisor?”

“I will.” Professor Washington paused to grace Ben with one of his enigmatic smiles. “The English Department, of course, will still decide your reader, who, along with me, will decide your final grade. It will be interesting to see who they select.”

“I don’t even care.” Ben couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I’m just so happy you’ve agreed.”

“Yes, well. Tell me more about what you have in mind and what precisely went missing with Dr. Arnold.”

Ben explained his idea of exploring filial relationships in _Cato_ —those between the title character and his children, as well as the Numidian Prince Juba and the Roman people. And then he listed the sources Dr. Arnold had taken to the best of his recollection. “I know there were other books and articles I’m forgetting. But the real loss is my notes. And the outline.”

Washington nodded a sighed a bit. “Yes. Well, we will do our best to reconstruct what you have lost. The fact you have already thought your thesis through in this amount of detail puts you ahead of where many students begin the school year. Have you read the Knight guide to Addison and Steele?”

Ben bit back a curse, this a reminder of another personal book Arnold had made off with. Professor Washington pulled a copy from his shelf, asked Ben about a few more books while he was there, and ended with a nice little stack on the corner of his desk. “I’ll have Alex copy out a few other things for you. Are you free Wednesday afternoons?”

Ben’s schedule was light, and he was pretty sure he remembered correctly that Wednesdays would be good. “I should double check, but I think my last class is over at 2:15.”

“Then shall we say 3:00 every Wednesday here?”

Ben smiled, trying to control how giddy he felt at the idea of seeing Washington alone here every week to discuss his favorite piece of literature. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good. Bring the form this week for me to fill out, and I will talk to Dr. Reed in the interim. Get through what you can in those,” he said, nodding at the stack, “and we’ll start figuring out what else you need.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, so very much.”

***

The weekend before classes began was traditionally a time to have as much fun as possible. There were no assignments due yet, and this being senior year, everyone who hadn’t been 21 by the end of junior year had turned 21 over the summer. Everyone Ben knew was getting drunk, going out, and having fun. The noise coming from the common room of his suite even at 2:00 in the afternoon was enough to constantly remind him how much fun he should be having. But he was curled up on his bed going through the stack of reading Washington had given him. All he had said was that Ben should get through as much as he could, but Ben didn’t want to show up Wednesday for his first meeting looking like a lazy dumbass.

His friends certainly didn’t care if he made a fool of himself on Wednesday, though. His suitemates were constantly harassing him, and Anna had already called twice. So it didn’t surprise him, but it did annoy him a bit, when someone pounded on his door. With a sigh, he said, “Come in.”

Much to his extreme surprise, it wasn’t any of his college friends, but Caleb and Abe.

Of course, with both of them in New York sharing an apartment, it wasn’t that odd to see them on weekends. Abe was just starting law school at Columbia, and after disagreements on several issues with NYU, Caleb was taking a year off and working at the _Intrepid_ museum. But what they would be doing in New Haven unannounced this weekend was a complete mystery to Ben.

“Tallboy!” Caleb exclaimed as he flopped on Ben’s bed and threw an arm around his shoulders. “What the everlasting fuck are you doing in here? There is life happening just outside your door, and you should come experience it with me and Abe.”

“I have reading to do,” Ben laughed, closing the book on his lap and scooting over to make room for Abe. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

“Rush,” answered Abe.

“Huh? Why would you come to Yale for fall rush? It’s not that interesting and I don’t think any of the houses are doing anything this weekend.”

“Not fraternity rush, you ass,” Caleb said, smacking Ben’s arm. “ _Rush_! The band. They’re playing Hartford tonight. We’ve got three tickets.”

Ben shifted to sit up straighter, interested in this unexpected proposition. He loved Rush, and going to see them with Caleb and Abe could end up being a story for the ages. But he also looked at the stack of books Washington had given him. He remembered being in Washington’s office the day before and what it had felt like to elicit one of those miniscule smiles, to know Washington’s approval. He nearly shuddered at the memory.

“I’d love to, but I have too much reading to do.”

“Reading? The semester hadn’t even started,” Caleb protested.

Ben side-eyed Abe, who should be doing his own reading with law school starting on Monday, but Abe’s smiled showed he clearly sided with Caleb on this. When his professors called on him Monday, Ben hoped he still felt the same way. But he wasn’t going to rag on Abe, who very well may have already done all the reading he needed to. Instead, he explained his own situation and the Arnold clusterfuck, which just made him angrier every time he thought about it.

“Bastard!” Abe spat out when Ben mentioned all the personal books Arnold had taken.

“Bastard?” Caleb chimed in. “No, I think rat bastard at least. Pigfucker might actually be more accurate.”

“We need to get your shit back,” Abe said, eyes going wide with a sense of adventure he usually saved for spontaneous midnight runs to Wal-Mart to buy Easy Cheese.

Ben was looking at Abe with a raised and wary eyebrow, when Caleb started bouncing up and down and tugging on his arm. “Fuck yes, we do,” Caleb exclaimed. “We’ll find his office and bust right on in there and get everything back.”

Abe nodded vigorously, and Caleb’s face was maniacal with joy. Granted, Ben had immediately thought of enlisting these two to help his get his stuff back, but he had definitely not intended to encourage Breaking and Entering. “No. Absolutely not.” Thinking back to how well he had catalogued the list of things Arnold had taken, he wished he’d been vaguer, so they didn’t feel as though they could pull this off even without Ben’s further cooperation. He really needed to discourage their dumber inclinations.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Tallboy. We’ll get your research back, right after Rush.” Caleb squeeze Ben tighter to his side.

“Hell yes,” agreed Abe. “I figure this is my last chance to plead ignorance about the law. I need to do this before a jury thinks a law student should know better.”

Ben just shook his head, wishing he had either less devoted or less idiotic friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna’s roommate, Jessica, is named after a friend who was in the English Department with me. We shared life stories when she gave me a ride home once, and I always liked her a ton. Hope she’s living her best life now.


	3. Chapter 3

There was soft music coming from somewhere in Mory’s, an atypical occurrence, but it sounded to Ben like something from an old black and white movie, which fit the atmosphere as far as he was concerned. He contemplated asking the maître d’, Wayne, about the music, but he had news for Ben and launched into it first. “Good to see, Benjamin. Ms. Smith called,” he said, grabbing two menus and leading the way into the dining room. “She is running late, but she promises she will be here within the half hour.”

It was on the tip of Ben’s tongue to thank Wayne for passing on the news, but once more, he was interrupted, this time by a soft voice in the corner that made him shudder a little. “You can join me while you wait.”

Wayne and Ben both stopped to turn to the speaker—none other than Professor Washington was tucked into a table in the corner. Wayne raised an eyebrow to question Ben if he wished to join this man, and Ben nodded, even as his body thrilled at the idea of sitting down with Washington in a mostly empty Mory’s for a drink. As Wayne led him to the table, Ben attempted to compose himself, reminding himself that he was an adult, and having a drink with another adult was a perfectly normal thing that adults did.

After all, their first meeting two days earlier had gone even better than he could have imagined. Washington had been extremely pleased with the amount of reading Ben had accomplished (thanks to skipping Rush), and they had begun to hash out the various points Ben hoped to make in the paper. It had been thrilling, Washington’s knowledge of 18th Century theater in general and _Cato_ specifically astonishing. When Ben had discussed the play with Dr. Arnold, it had been like having a conversation with a peer. But with Washington, Ben didn’t wish to speak, wanting Washington’s superior knowledge to wash over him. There had been a few moments when Ben had actually caught himself staring open-mouthed. But for the most part, Washington had maintained his usual stoic demeanor, sprinkled with a few of his almost grins. Ben was reasonably sure Washington did not think him a complete idiot.

Just as Ben sat across from Washington, the waiter appeared to take Ben’s order. He and Anna had been planning to try Old Fashioneds tonight, but he didn’t know if it would be okay for him to start without her. Not wanting to delay and look even stupider in front of Washington, he finally stammered out that he would, in fact, like an Old Fashioned.

“What bourbon?” the waiter politely asked.

“Um….” Ben had given this no thought, and somehow he could not think of a single bourbon ever distilled, let alone one that wouldn’t make him look like the naive dumbass he was.

“Knob Creek,” Washington suggested. “A solid bourbon that won’t break a college student budget, assuming you switch to something cheaper after a couple rounds.”

Ben could feel himself blushing and he nodded at the waiter. “Yeah. Knob Creek.”

The waiter departed with Ben’s order, and for the first time he paid attention to Washington’s table. There was an open notebook and a fancy fountain pen, Washington clearly having been in the middle of something when Ben joined him. “I’m sorry. I hope I’m not keeping you from something important.”

Washington closed the notebook and capped the pen. “I’m just jotting notes for the Sheridan. Nothing that cannot wait.”

Ben watched Washington pack his things, wanting to ask a million questions about the project, but also not wishing to bother Washington. He’d been asked to edit the Norton Critical Edition of Sheridan’s play _The_   _School for Scandal_ , a huge honor he well deserved. Ben, of course, knew the play and liked it quite a bit, and hearing Washington talk about it would probably be the next best thing to listening to him talk about _Cato_. But for some reason, Ben worried that it would come across as harassing him. He should ask Alex if he thought Washington would mind being pestered about the project. Well, and since Alex was Washington’s grad assistant specifically to help with this project, Ben could probably find out all about it from him without asking Washington a lot of stupid questions.

Everything tucked away in his bag, Washington looked pleasantly across the table and asked, “So, how did the first week of classes go?”

“Fine,” Ben answered. His first week, frankly, proving pretty boring aside from his time with Washington, but he couldn’t really say that. “I’m taking a lighter schedule than I used to, so there wasn’t that much.”

Washington raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch. “If you’re taking more than two classes in addition to your thesis, you’re not taking a light load.”

Ben lowered his blushing face, his cocktail arriving to delay his embarrassment a few moments more, as he paused for the waiter to set the glass before him. “Three,” Ben admitted. “But one of them is French, and I’ve studied Latin, which helps a lot, and it turns out I’m in a section led by Gilbert Lafayette, so I think that’s going to be pretty fun.”

Washington chuckled a bit. “Yes, Gilbert. For being an English graduate student, he haunts the Theater Department quite a bit. But I think he is good for Alex, so I don’t complain. And I’m glad to hear they have allowed him to take some French sections. Learning the language from a native speaker cannot be bested.”

They chatted aimlessly for a while about learning languages (Washington could read French and German, but felt helpless attempting to hold a conversation in either of them, and Ben could say the same about Latin). And then they talked about different professors Ben had taken, George smirking knowingly a few times when Ben gave his opinion. And then the conversation drifted to something more personal when Washington asked about the tardy “Ms. Smith.”

“You think _I’m_ an overachiever, you haven’t met Anna,” Ben laughed. “She’s a Poli Sci major, and someday she’s going to be running the CIA or something.”

“How long have you been together?” Washington asked before sipping at his cocktail.

“Oh, Anna and I aren’t dating. We grew up together. She literally kicked me in the shins in my father’s children’s choir at church.”

“Ah! I see. So, are you dating someone? I’m just wondering who might come wandering through my department or I might find lounging on couches in the hallway with Gilbert.”

Ben actually snorted a bit into his Old Fashioned, which it turned out he really did like. (He couldn’t wait for Anna to try one.) “No, I haven’t seriously dated anyone since the summer before junior year.”

“Oh?” Washington asked, that eyebrow once more just slightly tilted upwards. “What happened? If you don’t mind me prying, of course.”

Ben didn’t mind the prying, and he could talk about Nathan now more than a year later, although if he’d had this exact conversation a year ago, he would have probably started crying, even in Mory’s. “No. It’s fine. He decided to drop out of Yale and join the army. We were still together and happy, but he thought trying to stay together would be a bad idea.” Ben paused and traced a finger through the condensation on the side of his lowball glass. “He still writes, and apparently Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is working out pretty okay for him, so I guess it was the right choice.”

Washington nodded sagely. “But do you feel as though it has worked out well for you? There having been no one else.”

“No one important,” Ben mumbled in clarification, but vowing Washington really didn’t need to know about Peggy. “Anyhow. It is what it is.” He looked up with an awkward, forced smile. “But what about you? Is there someone special in your life?” He held his breath a little, waiting for the answer.

“As with you, not for about a year.”

“What happened?”

Washington smiled wistfully as he gazed across the room. “A professor at West Point. They’re even more forgiving with professors than cadets and soldiers on the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell front. Especially a professor they brought in from the former East German army. But it turns out, he wasn’t entirely honest on his resume, and so he moved to Virginia, wondering if VMI might be less interested in paper qualifications.”

“He sounds interesting.”

“Ha! You’ve no idea. But it is no more, and that is that.”

They sat together quietly for a time, and Ben prayed his face did not betray too much of what he was feeling. After all, what did it really matter, having confirmation that Washington was both single and dated men? The last man on earth he would be interested in was one of his 21-year-old students. And yet, the idea that he now had a sliver of a chance to glory privately in the sound of that voice, to stare openly at the firm jaw, feel those strong hands on his body, touch what appeared through the dress pants to be powerful thighs…it was too much. He loosened his tie a fraction and cursed Mory’s jacket requirement as the heat crept through his body.

“There’s music,” Ben finally said, needing to say something to fill the silence that had begun as thoughtful, but had started to veer toward the uncomfortable. “I’ve never heard music at Mory’s before.”

Washington’s mouth twitched marginally in thought. “Perhaps they are trying something new. What do you think of it?”

“The choice is good. Anna and I like to get what we call ‘old man drinks’ when we come here, and the music fits that mood.”

“Do you like standards?”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know a lot of them. But my freshman year I felt compelled to listen to some Cole Porter, because it only seemed right.”

Washington chuckled, and Ben took another sip of his drink to cover just how pleased this made him. “Porter is a good place to start. You can’t beat Gershwin for the sheer musicality, though.”

Mentally, Ben added Gershwin to the list of things he would look for the next time he was at Cutler’s buying CDs.

And then Washington sighed. It was the most unexpected sound Ben had ever heard, and arguably the most beautiful. He might even be getting a little hard. “But this,” Washington gestured vaguely in the air to indicate the music, “you can’t beat Hart as a lyricist.”

Since the song currently playing was an instrumental arrangement, Ben would just have to take Washington’s word for it, but at this point, he was reasonably sure he would believe Washington if he said that the sun rose in the west and set in the east. “I don’t think I know him.”

“Rodgers and Hart songs are some of the best ever written.” Washington paused at Ben’s tilted and questioning head. “Lorenz Hart. Rodgers’s partner before Oscar Hammerstein. Everyone remembers Rodgers and Hammerstein because it’s arguably better theater, but Rodgers and Hart wrote better songs.”

“Why did they stop working together?”

“Hart essentially drank himself to death.” Washington stared off into the distance, a wistful twist to his features. His eyes then dropped to the table, his countenance somehow sad, more expression moving his features than Ben had ever seen. “God, but I do love this song,” his voice even more melancholy than his face. He looked up at Ben, his gaze as penetrating as it had ever been, his lips nearly parting as though he may speak. It left Ben breathless, a slight tremor passing through his body. But before he could collect his scattered thoughts and ask Washington the name of the song, Anna swooped in.

“Ben! Sorry I’m late, but it seems you found company.”

“Ah, yeah. Anna, this is Professor Washington. Professor Washington, my friend Anna Smith.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Washington said, rising and offering Anna his hand. “Why don’t the two of you take the table? I should be going.”

“Not on my account, I hope,” said Anna.

“Not a bit.” Washington took the last swallow from his glass. “Enjoy your Old Fashioneds.”

***

The memory of the expression on Washington’s face after he had declared his love for the song playing at Mory’s did not leave Ben. He couldn’t say why, but he felt in his marrow that Washington’s look meant…something, and not merely that he enjoyed the song. Both look and song haunted Ben, likely because he recalled Washington’s face every time he closed his eyes (which he may have done a bit more than usual), and he intentionally hummed the song, hoping he would remember it when he heard it again. When they met again on Wednesday, Ben was tempted to simply ask what the song was, but something stopped him, as though perhaps whatever intimacy they had shared in the brief moment before Anna arrived would be lost if they addressed it again directly.

Afterward, Ben told himself to forget their encounter and to stop humming the song, but it had all become ingrained in his mind and heart, and he could no longer dismiss what had happened. Not that he didn’t try for the next two weeks, but after a Wednesday meeting where they squeezed beside each other at Washington’s desk outlining his thesis, their knees bumping together from time to time, Ben could ignore it no longer. Although, he still couldn’t ask Washington. So, instead, he left their meeting and went directly to Cutler’s.

Cutler’s had always been Ben’s favorite music store in New Haven, pretty much always having what he went there specifically looking for, as well as introducing him to new things. But he’d never gone in looking for standards. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure where to start, but he didn’t want to ask for help since he didn’t even know the title of the song, and he dreaded being asked to hum a little. So he poked around until he found something that was at the very least promising.

He held in his hand two CDs— _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers and Hart Songbook, Volumes 1 and 2_. Not knowing what song he wanted, he decided to go ahead and buy both, since while he didn’t know a lot about standards and jazz, he knew owning more Ella Fitzgerald wasn’t a bad thing. After paying, he trembled a little in anticipation, hurrying back to his suite, hoping his roommate, Mark, would have a lot of work to do or a sudden urge to be out so he could concentrate on the CDs.

When he arrived, he nodded at Josh and Dave, two of his suitemates who, thankfully, were far too busying playing _Mortal Combat_ to chat. When he opened the door to his room, Mark was just throwing books into his backpack. “I have got to get out of here,” Mark said, looking particularly frazzled. “If I hear someone scream ‘Finish him!’ one more time, it’s going to finish me. You want to join me in the library? It’s your only hope if you want to study.” 

“Nah, I’m good. I have some reading, but I figure headphones should drown them out.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Mark said, just as Josh and Dave both screamed enthusiastically about something that happened in their game. Mark shouldered his backpack. “Last chance.”

Ben laughed and plopped on his bed as Mark left the room, shutting the door behind him. In the very next heartbeat, Ben snatched up his Discman from his desk, put on his headphones, and popped in disc one.

At first, Ben thought he would listen to every song—they were all likely pretty good, and he wanted to appreciate the genius of Lorenz Hart after all. But he only managed to force himself all the way through the first song, “Have You Met Miss Jones,” something he’d never even heard of before, and then he became impatient. He would only allow the song to play long enough to determine that it was not the song from Mory’s, before skipping to the next. However, he often had to listen all the way through the introductions to be certain, and the songs, unsurprisingly, had a similar sound, so that he began to fear he would no longer know the song if he heard it. In fact, he started to lose hope as he swapped out the discs and hit play on Volume 2.

The first few songs were definitely not it, but he found himself caught in the spell of “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was.” Something about the wonderful lyrics, which built the sense of overwhelming passion, stirred Ben and made him think of Washington and how much he had begun to fall for his professor without truly realizing it. Yes, he’d long found Washington attractive—how could it be otherwise?—but it was more than that. _Brilliant, gorgeous, and so good to me. I am so fucked. But, of course, not literally fucked_. His cock started to ache.

The next song also stopped him, “I Could Write a Book.” The idea of writing an entire book about the person you loved, spoke to Ben. The idea that friendship could grow into love intrigued him even more. “My Funny Valentine” followed, and Ben chuckled, and appreciated just how good Lorenz Hart really was. So charming, clever, and romantic, Ben wistfully smiled his way through the entire song.

He settled in—legs crossed at the ankle, hands entwined behind his head resting on the pillow—resigned to listen to the next song, whatever it might be. But something in the introduction struck him as familiar. He turned up the volume, body tense, listening more closely than before. When he heard the melody proper begin and Ella Fitzgerald sang the words, “I’m wild again, beguiled again,” he knew he had the song he wanted.

A thrill raced through his body and he sat bolt upright and turned his Discman up as loudly as it would go, sure to drown out any shouts from the suite’s common room. To be on the safe side, he got up and locked his door, even though he was sure Mark wouldn’t be back anytime soon and none of his suitemates would just burst in. He tried to concentrate on the lyrics, but he was so excited to have found the song, it all blurred together in the smooth, smoky voice.

Back on his bed, he flipped over the disc case and discovered the song he had been humming incessantly for three weeks was called “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” He yanked out the liner notes for the first time, his stomach fluttering when he discovered the lyrics were included. He attempted to read them while the song continued to play, but that only made it impossible to really concentrate on what he read or listened to. Trying to calm himself, he listened to the end of the song, and then hit the back button. This time, he read the lyrics while the song played.

 _After one whole quart of brandy_  
Like a daisy, I'm awake  
With no Bromo-Seltzer handy  
I don't even shake  
  
Men are not a new sensation  
I've done pretty well I think  
But this half-pint imitation  
Put me on the blink  
  
I'm wild again, beguiled again  
A simpering, whimpering child again  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I  
  
Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep  
When love came and told me, I shouldn't sleep  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I  
  
Lost my heart, but what of it  
He is cold I agree  
He can laugh, but I love it  
Although the laugh's on me  
  
I'll sing to him, each spring to him  
And long, for the day when I'll cling to him  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I  
  
He's a fool and don't I know it  
But a fool can have his charms  
I'm in love and don't I show it  
Like a babe in arms  
  
Love's the same old sad sensation  
Lately I've not slept a wink  
Since this half-pint imitation  
Put me on the blink  
  
I've sinned a lot, I'm mean a lot  
But I'm like sweet seventeen a lot  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I  
  
I'll sing to him, each spring to him  
And worship the trousers that cling to him  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I  
  
When he talks, he is seeking  
Words to get, off his chest  
Horizontally speaking, he's at his very best  
  
Vexed again, perplexed again  
Thank God, I can be oversexed again  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I  
  
Wise at last, my eyes at last  
Are cutting you down to your size at last  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more  
  
Burned a lot, but learned a lot  
And now you are broke, so you earned a lot  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more  
  
Couldn't eat, was dyspeptic  
Life was so hard to bear  
Now my heart's antiseptic  
Since you moved out of there  
  
Romance, finis. Your chance, finis  
Those ants that invaded my pants, finis  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more

Ben found it impossible that these could be the lyrics to the beautiful song he had heard playing in Mory’s while sitting at Washington’s table. He listened to the song again. Then he paused the CD so he could read the lyrics closely. His breathing sped up and he swore he could feel his heart beat.

 _It’s a song about someone older remembering what love is like because of someone younger. And when Washington heard it, he looked at me…with longing_.

Ben was utterly fucked, and he knew it. He put the song on repeat and turned off the lights so he might concentrate on it with no distractions. Each time through, some other lyric pierced his heart, and he sighed and balled his hands into fists. Eventually, on the fourth or fifth time through, he opened his jeans and reached inside of his boxers. At first his strokes were slow and dreamy, in time with the music. But soon he could not restrain himself and his hand worked faster and faster until he had to turn his face to the side and bite his pillow to muffle the groans of his orgasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally, we get the title of the story! If you want to hear Ella Fitzgerald sing the song, this is the YouTube video I had on repeat while I wrote this chapter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fzZ4l2H5-w&index=6&t=0s&list=LLzjwNksJXej8nkdDx3QYk6Q
> 
> The lyrics were copied from here: https://genius.com/Ella-fitzgerald-bewitched-bothered-and-bewildered-lyrics
> 
> Ben's decision that listening to Cole Porter was appropriate is because Porter is a Yalie.
> 
> Norton Critical editions are scholarly editions of major works of literature and include critical essays. There is no Norton Critical for Sheridan’s The School for Scandal, but there certainly could be, and a Yale theater professor specializing in 18th Century theater is exactly the sort of person who would be tapped to edit it. If you’re interested in reading the play, check it out on Project Gutenberg.   
> http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1929
> 
> I had to give GWash an ex-boyfriend, and I decided, why not Baron von Steuben.
> 
> More Inside Yale stuff—Mory’s is a private club for Yalies, and it actually went out of business for awhile before coming back in its current incarnation in which students can sit around the bar in t-shirts working on their laptops. However, back in the 90s, Mory’s still had a strict jacket policy for men, and no electronics were allowed. Ah, how times change. Speaking of, Culter's is no longer around, but was a music store in New Haven back in the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Here at the end of a long week, Ben couldn’t be happier blowing off steam with Anna and some other folks from Berkeley College at the Anchor. Anna had just returned with Manhattans—tonight’s old man drink for the two of them—as Patsy Cline played on the jukebox, and he felt as though all was right with the world. His classes were going well, including an entirely painless presentation earlier that day in French. Gilbert had been fantastic about helping his section prepare, and everything had been incredibly smooth. His other two classes—the Roman Senate seminar in the Classics department and Behavioral Psych—were trucking along as well, the first being an absolute pleasure, and the second a distribution requirement he was kicking himself for not taking care of earlier.

And, of course, there was his senior thesis with Washington. He stopped himself from mentioning that he had found and listened to the Rodgers and Hart song that had been playing that evening at Mory’s. Rather, he had concentrated the discussion on his introduction and sources, even if all the time he had been glancing at Washington from the corner of his eye thinking that he knew what that song meant. Because it had to mean what he thought, didn’t it? Could Washington possibly think of him that way? But even if Ben was right about the song’s meaning, he was still stuck at that awkward place of what to do about it. Should he make a move the next time Washington fixed him with his intense stare? Impossible. Right?

His daydreams were interrupted when they were joined by Alex and Gilbert. Grad students rarely mingled with undergrads, but Gilbert was ridiculously friendly with everyone, and it was a Friday night in a packed bar. With a little scooting and everyone sitting closer than would be appropriate anywhere on earth besides a packed college bar on a Friday night, they managed to squeeze them into the half-round booth. Ben had been on the end, so he now had Alex pushed against his side with Gilbert perched on the edge, Alex’s arm wrapped around his waist to steady him. Ben couldn’t help a little grin at how sweet they looked.

“Mes amis!” Gilbert proclaimed with a flourish of his arm. “This is a glorious day, for I have received word from Dartmouth concerning the most astute and brilliant paper I submitted for their spring conference on American writers in exile concerning this fine nation’s illustrious author, F. Scott Fitzgerald. My work on _Tender Is the Night_ has been accepted by them for presentation!”

Everyone congratulated Gilbert, who was more enthusiastic about Fitzgerald than anyone Ben had ever met. Grinning and clearly pleased with the attention, he leaned forward and announced, “And in honor, I shall purchase a round of gin rickeys for everyone in this cozy and delightful booth.”

This made everyone cheer even louder, and he jumped up after Alex gave him a kiss on the cheek and made his way to the bar. “He’s been looking forward to gin rickeys all afternoon,” Alex leaned over and spoke directly into Ben’s ear. “It was Fitzgerald’s favorite drink, of course.”

Ben laughed, knowing that Fitzgerald had been a gin drinker, but not being quite obsessed with him enough to know the exact cocktail. It surprised him not at all that Gilbert would know. “It’s nice of him to get us a round.”

Alex shrugged and chuckled a bit. “He loves it. Using his vast wealth to make his friends happy. I’m not even kidding when I say he’d buy me a house if I let him.”

Ben smiled and nodded, not really needing to comment further. He and Alex had not known each other long or well, but they were both aware that they came from more modest means than most people at Yale. It was rarely a thing, but it was impossible to ignore all the time.

“So, Washington is pleased with you,” Alex said.

Ben choked a bit on the Manhattan he was trying to finish before Gilbert showed up with the gin. “Is he? Are you sure?”

Alex smacked him on the shoulder. “You are humble to a fault sometimes. Yes, he is extremely pleased. Do you want to know how I know? It’s because he almost never says anything positive about his students. I mean, last year, I think he said something to the effect of, ‘That John in my early modern class really isn’t as slow as the rest of them,’ and that was the nicest thing I’d ever heard him say about a student. But you, Ben! Thursday morning I roll into the office and he’s reading something. When I clear my throat to let him know I’m there, he looks up startled and points at what he was reading, and he says, ‘I really think Benjamin is rather onto something.’ That’s pretty much Washington-speak for he thinks you’re a fucking genius.”

Ben tried not to blush, but he might as well wish away the need to breathe. On Wednesday afternoon, Ben had given Washington the start of his outline and annotated bibliography, which he’d thought were not bad, but he knew he was still missing sources and ideas that had been in the notes Arnold stole. Still, to garner this sort of praise from Washington! He would never have dared to hope for such a thing. Ben knew that Alex was laughing at him without even raising his hot, embarrassed face. He needed to say something. “It’s been hard and slow reconstructing everything Dr. Arnold took. I’m glad Washington is happy with my progress.”

“Ha! You are too much. Ah! Here comes Gilbert and a waitress with one very full tray of cocktails.”

Ben finally dared to lift his eyes to see Gilbert returning with drinks, something he was incredibly grateful for. Not only did he need another drink, but hopefully this would distract Alex and leave Ben to his thoughts. Anna, sitting on his other side, tugged on his sleeve.

“So, what did Alex say that turned you so bright red? He ask you back to his place for a threesome?”

“Anna! No! How could you?”

She snorted behind the back of her hand. “Good lord. How could I?” She leaned over, her scrunched up and questioning face only a couple inches from his own. “Have you looked at them? How could you not?”

Ben couldn’t help laughing with her, fulling willing to accept her point. _They are both fucking gorgeous. Well, it would be more accurate to say Gilbert is adorable and Alex is sexy, but when you split the difference, that comes out to gorgeous, right? Anyhow, they’re too happy together to contemplate_.

Once everyone had a drink, they toasted Gilbert’s success in every language someone spoke at the table, so that took a while, and by the time they finished everyone was nearly ready for their next round. Feeling the alcohol at this point, Ben laughed along with everyone, his spirits high, loving the emotional and physical closeness and the energy running through him. _And Washington thinks I’m brilliant. And that turns him on. Rodgers and Hart doesn’t lie. I’m quite sure of it_.

Eventually Ben had to crawl over Alex and Gilbert to get out of the booth. First stop, the bathroom. After he finished there, his second stop was the bar to get another round of Manhattans for him and Anna. But he had to wait there for an opening so he could get up to the bar, all the while people pushing by behind him, the impossibility of avoiding physical contact in the cramped space meaning it took a moment for it to register that someone had come to a stop behind, a hand resting on his ass.

“Fancy meeting you here,” whispered a playful voice in his ear. “Seriously, as a pick-up line, is that so retro and cliched it’s cute, or did I just make you want to retch?”

Ben twisted his head so he might peek over his shoulder and confirm he did know the man with a hand on his ass. It was Freddy Morgan, a theater grad student he’d met last year at the English Department faculty Christmas party. Freddy had crashed, but he was a friend of Peggy Shippen’s, and she had introduced them. Freddy had flirted outrageously with Ben, and even given him a peck on the lips before Ben left with Peggy. They’d seen each other a few times since then, but only in passing in random social situations, never really somewhere that led to them talking and getting to know each other. Still, Ben liked him. Freddy seemed fun, and he was good looking—thin, mischievous smile, dark hair mussed to perfection.

“If I’m being honest, it’s been hard to concentrate much on what you’re saying since your hand has been on my ass the whole time,” Ben said with a crooked smile.

Freddy squeezed his fingers and narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? I’m clutching one of the most gorgeous asses I’ve ever seen, and it makes it difficult for me to pay attention. Oh! Opening at the bar. Go.” Freddy propelled Ben forward with a push to his behind, clinging close so that his front was pretty much always in contact with Ben’s back.

Ben ordered his Manhattans and Freddy asked for a vodka cranberry, Freddy kindly paying for all three. While they waited, Ben wondering if Freddy had any intention of removing his hand or if he wanted him to, and they engaged in some small talk. Freddy told Ben about his makeup class, and Ben gave him a quick update about his senior thesis.

“You do realize what a limb GWash has gone out on for you, right?” Freddy asked.

Ben raised an eyebrow, this being an entirely new concept to him. “What do you mean?”

“Professors advising outside of their departments isn’t exactly popular to begin with. But to ask Washington when you’re in the English Department? You couldn’t have picked worse.”

All of this was shocking new information to Ben, and he couldn’t believe it was true, because wouldn’t someone have said something to him before now if this were the case? Particularly Washington. Ben shifted to face Freddy—and make it impossible for Freddy to keep touching his ass and distracting them both. “What does that mean?”

Freddy gasped and chuckled behind his hand. “Oh God. You really don’t know! GWash and Lee hate each other. Like hate each other, and have for decades. Everyone assumed you wanted to intentionally send a giant ‘Fuck you’ to Lee, otherwise why wouldn’t you have asked him, or at the very least not asked his oldest rival.”

Ben felt the blood drain from his face. “I’ve never heard about any of this _.” But you do remember Washington’s hesitation and odd statement about taking care of smoothing the way for him to become your advisor. What the fuck have you done?_ “What happened?”

The bartender picked that exact moment to slide their drinks onto the bar. Freddy grabbed his and Ben picked up his two. He ought to get Anna her drink, but not before he heard Freddy’s explanation. “So?” Ben prompted as Freddy sucked some of his cocktail through his stir stick.

“They were undergraduates together at William and Mary. Apparently, they both started life as theater majors, and their first year, they went through the same drudgery together, taking small walk on parts, being bored in intro classes because they were both smarter than their other classmates. But then GWash got some part that Lee desperately wanted, they fought, and Lee changed his major.”

“What role?” Ben couldn’t stop himself from asking, even though he knew it didn’t matter in the larger scheme of things.

Freddy shrugged while he sucked down more of his vodka cranberry. “No idea. But I can promise you, Lee remembers.”

Ben sighed, but nodded. “Thanks for the heads up. I had no idea.”

“You might want to find a new advisor. Maybe even ask Lee. At this point, he’d probably be so happy to win you back from GWash, he’d drop all his other advisees and dedicate his life to you.”

Ben smiled, envisioning Dr. Lee suddenly becoming compliant and meek instead of constantly frowning and making students tremble in fear. “Nah. I think I’ll stay with Washington. But it is good to have an idea of everything that’s going on.” He was about to head back to the table, Anna probably wondering if he’d abandoned her, but he thought of one last thing he wanted to bring up with Freddy. “Do you ever see Peggy?”

Freddy rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Poor girl. Yes, I do. She actually asked me if I ever see you around the Theater Department once I told her GWash was your advisor. She’s worried about you.”

“That’s really nice of her, but tell her not to worry about me. And that I say ‘Hi.’ Anyhow, good to see you. I need to get this drink back to my table.”

Freddy leaned close to whisper in Ben’s ear, his lips actually brushing Ben’s cheek as he did so. “I do hope to see you around again sometime soon.”

Ben thought this wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but probably not tonight. Anna needed her drink and he needed to process what he’d just learned. _Although, your dick is already getting hard. Maybe you ought to take him up on the very clear offer he’s making. Now_.

“Benjamin Frederick Tallmadge, I am dying of thirst.” Anna pushed Ben and Freddy apart and grabbed her drink. After downing about half, she looked at Freddy. “Hi. Anna Smith. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I sent him for a cocktail sometime last _year_ , and I was still waiting.”

“I would never keep a lady from her drink,” he bowed absurdly. “And by the way, I’m Freddy Morgan. Lovely to meet you.” He nodded to Anna, who nodded back, and then he smirked at Ben. “See you soon.” He winked and then left.

“He’s cute,” Anna said. “But also…I don’t know. I kind of want to take a bath.”

Ben thought of being in a bath with Freddy, and that didn’t help his burgeoning hard on at all. “He’s cool. Anyhow, I’m ready to head back to the table.”

“Well, you’re going to have to sit on Gilbert’s lap or something, because your seat has been taken.”

Anna couldn’t prevent a little grin and she didn’t meet Ben’s eye. He shoved her with his hip. “So, who am I going to find in my seat?”  
  
“Selah.”

And now Ben was the one who couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Ever since the previous year when she had been in a section led by Salah Strong, a Poli Sci grad student, she had been discreetly mooning over him. And sort of stalking him around New Haven, as in she would pop up at bars he was at when friends called to alert her to a sighting. So far this semester, he’d seemed pretty pleased at her appearances, and tonight marked the second time _he_ had turned up at the Anchor, _her_ favorite bar.

“I will absolutely bite the bullet and sit on Gilbert’s lap if it helps you get laid.”

“From your lips to God’s ear.” She took another drink. “Let’s do this thing.”

Ben tucked the tag to Anna’s shirt back into the collar. “Hell yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The English Department faculty Christmas party where Ben and Freddy meet is covered in the first work in the Bright College Years series, "This Changes Everything." https://archiveofourown.org/works/15089603


	5. Chapter 5

He knew he ought to pay closer attention to the words Washington spoke, but Ben had to admit that on occasion he just let the warmth of Washington’s voice roll over him, words indistinct, but the sound enveloping him. And today was one of those days where he wanted nothing more than to tingle in the presence of Washington. Since running into Freddy at the Anchor over the weekend, Washington had been even more in Ben’s thoughts, if that were possible. _He’s not simply giving me his time, but perhaps causing trouble for himself, just so he can be my advisor. And I know he must have feelings. The way he smiled—a genuine, full smile—when I walked in and he began talking about the work I turned in last week, it means something more. I know it_.

“Benjamin. And now you.”

Ben started, realizing that Cato’s speech had ended, and it was now Juba’s line, and he was supposed to be reading Juba, the African prince who loved Cato even when his own sons and all of Rome gave up on the leader of the Senate. “Sorry. I was busy listening to you and not thinking about my own entrance.”

“This is not an actual performance. There is no need to apologize.”

With a smile, and he hoped not too much of a blush, Ben read Juba’s next lines:

> Cato, perhaps
> 
> I'm too officious; but my forward cares
> 
> Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
> 
> My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
> 
> Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.

“And do you think this is a usable example of the filial relationship you are exploring?” Washington asked instead of launching into Cato’s next speech, which Ben had been rather looking forward to hearing him read.

Ben looked closely once more at the lines he had just spoken before answering. “Yes and no. Juba clearly loves Cato, but I think at this particular moment, his love goes beyond being merely filial. Juba is passionate about preserving Cato’s life and not just his embattled virtue.”

“But cannot that be filial? Must it be some other sort of love? And if so, what kind of love?”

Once more, attempting not to blush, thinking about his own love for Washington which had so undeniably transformed from filial to erotic, Ben stared at the book open between them. Washington’s hand rested on the page, his fingers marking Juba’s words. Ben sat beside him, having moved the green chair around the desk so they might share Ben’s battered and much-loved copy. At this angle, it would be so easy for him to reach out and touch those strong fingers, arched above the text.

“It’s a complex love,” Ben said haltingly, needing to speak, even though he hadn’t a clue what he was saying. “Yes, Cato is a father to him, but they are more than surrogate father and son. There is more blossoming between them, such as friendship and mutual respect. One wonders what they might speak of if they had a moment to discuss something other than what brought them together.”

Washington’s only reply was a whispered, “Yes,” before they fell into silence, not moving, only their rapid breathing proof they were still alive.

“I found the song,” Ben whispered.

“What song?”

“The one that was playing the night we saw each other at Mory’s. The Rodgers and Hart song you said you loved.”

“Ah. Yes. Do you like it?”

Ben trembled and peeked at Washington from the corner of his eye. Washington seemed to be staring as intently at Ben’s hand resting on the open book and Ben was at his. He could hold back no longer, and Ben slid his hand along the page until he reached Washington’s hand, and then he tucked his own up and under. A heartbeat later, Washington inhaled sharply, and Ben feared he would pull his hand away, so Ben arched his hand up, the back of his to Washington’s palm, and twined their fingers together.

“I love it,” Ben’s shaking voice at last admitted. “You’re right about Hart being a genius lyricist.”

“He was more than just clever—he understood.”

Ben tightened his grip, and Washington squeezed back, which finally gave Ben the courage to look up. Washington’s normally tight-lipped demeanor was collapsing, his mouth slightly open, eyes blinking rapidly. Ben had never seen anything more exceptional, and he had to reach up with his free hand, place it on Washington’s cheek, angle his face in his own direction. Washington’s searching eyes matched the flutter of Ben’s heart, and with that knowledge, all hesitation vanished.

Their lips met slow and soft, Ben still reluctant to allow himself to believe this was happening and not another of the dreams that greeted him when he fell asleep listening to Ella Fitzgerald sing Rodgers and Hart. He was awake, and so was Washington, and after a few tentative exchanges of breath through parted lips, their mouths melted firmly together, tongues slipping over each other, the fingers that had already been entwined now pressing hard together to the point of pain.

No kiss had ever felt quite so electric, and Ben’s fingertips traced Washington’s cheek on their way to slide over Washington’s ear and into his hair. But Washington pulled back, Ben’s hand sliding down his neck until it finally fell to the desk. “We must not, Benjamin.”

Ben parted his lips, an eloquent, or at least impassioned, argument about to spring from them, when a sharp, loud knock came to Washington’s office door. Washington settled farther back in his chair to create more distance between them, hands folded in his lap, but he never had the chance to invite the visitor in before the door flew open. The banging of the door against the bookshelves made Ben jump, and he twisted around in his chair to see a scowling and red-faced Dr. Lee standing at the threshold.

“Good. You are both here,” Dr. Lee said without introduction. “I will have you know my petition to the faculty senate will be heard on this unorthodox advisor situation.”

Ben sat breathless and looked to Washington, who remained as composed as ever. Eventually, Ben thought merely to acknowledge that he had heard Lee, Washington crooked an eyebrow up fractionally. “As is your right. But these sorts of cases have been adjudicated before, and you have to know that precedence is in Benjamin’s favor.”

“I know that you will regret crossing me this time.” Lee tore his fierce gaze from Washington and turned it on Ben. “Both of you will.”

“Charles, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave my office. Your vitriol ceased bothering me long ago, but I cannot have you frightening my student.”

“ _Your_ student? He should be mine, and you very well know it! Not again, George. I won’t let you do this again.” And without another word of explanation to make this feud clearer to Ben, Dr. Lee slammed the door shut, and they could hear his stomps echoing down the hallway.

Ben couldn’t imagine where to start asking questions of Washington about what had just happened. Could Dr. Lee force him to select a new advisor? Merely contemplating the idea of having to start over again with another advisor was enough to make Ben want to scream. But it was too late in the semester to join the senior seminar. If Ben didn’t finish his thesis, he wouldn’t be able to graduate, so if the faculty senate were to rule against Washington, Ben would have no choice but to find another advisor, likely Dr. Lee himself, and that would be hellish.

“You look as if you might be ill,” Washington said. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

Washington placed a hand on his desk to push himself up, but Ben covered it with his own and squeezed. “They can’t really make me find a new advisor, can they?”

For several painful seconds, Washington thought about his response before sitting back down and adding his free hand on top of the one Ben already had clasping his other. Gaze steady on Ben’s hand, Washington slowly began to stroke it. “I wonder if it might not be better if I were not your advisor.”

“Professor Washington?”

Saying his name broke some manner of reverie he had been lost in, and Washington gently pulled both of his hands away from Ben. “Perhaps we ought to end this. All of this. It’s already too complicated, Benjamin.”

“You have feelings for me?”

Briefly, their eyes met before Washington dropped his back to the desk. “I cannot be your advisor and your lover. And even if I were not your advisor, it still would be an unwise liaison.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Professor Washington. Do you have feelings for me?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fidgeting with his pants. “You are a bright student and nice young man. And—”

“ _Romantic_ feelings. Do you have romantic feelings for me? Because,” Ben paused and swallowed fitfully, “I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings.”

“Benjamin….”

Ben leaned forward, his hand once more on Washington’s cheek to pull him around so that they were face-to-face. “Sir, please tell me.” Washington only trembled, his eyes soft, and Ben wished he would sink against the hand on his cheek, but at least he was not pulling away. Yet, they could not remain like this, in horrible limbo so close but going no further, so Ben leaned in once more. Washington averted his lips in the last breath before Ben’s mouth reached his, turning toward Ben’s hand, which still caressed his cheek. But Ben did not stop his forward momentum, and his lips came to rest on Washington’s now exposed neck, and after pressing them softly, he let his lips slip lower, planting kisses along the way until he reached the collar of the dark brown dress shirt. Ben stopped there, pushed the tip of his tongue through his lips to taste Washington’s skin, and then gently sucked.

“Oh God, Benjamin, please stop.”

Ben’s mouth traced back up Washington’s neck to his jaw, which Ben could not resist licking just ever so slightly. “I’m afraid I cannot, sir. Not when I know this is what we both want.”

Washington curled his larger, stronger hand around the one Ben had on his face. He did not yank Ben’s hand away, but he squeezed until their hands trembled. “You call me ‘Sir’ and yet you show no inclination to obey my requests.”

Ben kissed Washington’s ear. “Fine. George, we both want this.”

Washington, who mentally Ben still struggled to call “George,” chuckled before kissing Ben’s hand, but then decisively pulling away. “Benjamin, that is not quite what I meant.” Washington still held Ben’s hand, but his bittersweet smile and cold posture all bespoke mentor and not lover. Ben wanted to jump up and demand Washington admit his feelings, but when he tried to pull away, Washington used those magnificent hands of his to clutch Ben’s hand and hold him in place. “Benjamin, we need to talk.”

Ben bit his lips, holding back the epithets he wished to unleash until he felt capable of saying something he would not regret after the initial moment of release. “Yes, we do.” He took a deep breath and pulled gently enough on his hands that Washington believed it safe to release him and did so.

The list of things he wished to say to Washington now raced through his head at a relentless a pace. But every time he thought he could finally speak, a new problem bobbed to the surface, and so he sat impotent and mute. Finally, Washington took pity and selected one of the numerous uncomfortable topics that must now be broached between them.

“As long as you are my student, we cannot touch again, Benjamin. I will not jeopardize your grade or my career by doing so, not matter how we are tempted.”

Ben raised his eyes if not his entire face, and softly said, “So, you _are_ tempted.”

“You know that I am.” Washington leaned back in his chair and sighed, studying Ben as though he were a difficult math problem that needed solved. But in the end, he shook his head, there being no answer to this particular question. “It might be best if I were not your advisor.”

Trying hard to put aside his feelings— _by which you mean your erection_ —Ben vigorously shook his head. “No. Do you think you can beat Dr. Lee with the faculty senate?”

“Yes. His petition has no merit.”

“Then you have to be my advisor. I can’t go back to the English Department for an advisor. You know Dr. Lee will want me, so no other professor will take me, and you can’t believe I could possibly do this paper with him at this point. But it’s too late for me to just throw in the towel and not do a thesis, because the senior seminar won’t have me. You’re stuck with me,” Ben added with a hint of a smile. “Unless you want me not to graduate, which I don’t think my parents would be thrilled about.”

Washington ( _George?_ ) nodded, one of his tiny smiles almost coming out to play. “Another argument for me to use when I go before the faculty senate. Don’t worry, Benjamin. We are in the right, and to be blunt, the faculty senate is not looking to irritate a tenured full Professor who is known to be courted by other schools for the sake of an Associate Professor who specializes less in Victorian literature than causing problems.”

Ben took a deep breath and finally relaxed. “Good. I want to do this thesis. And I want to do it with you.”

“And we shall do it together. But we must set personal boundaries.”

As much as he did not like the new direction of this conversation, Ben knew it had to happen—he wasn’t stupid, and he knew there would be problems if anyone discovered he was involved with his senior thesis advisor. And yet, that didn’t stop the ache in his groin or his chest. After kissing him, being kissed by him, having his mouth on that glorious throat, Ben longed for George more than he ever had. “And what should our boundaries be?”

“I think we can keep it simple—no touching. We…,” George trailed off, his chest fluttering as he tried to control his breathing. “We cannot allow ourselves to become caught up in a moment, and I think that contact of even the most seemingly innocent nature can trigger such a moment.”

Of course, Ben wanted nothing more than to stroke his face and assure George that all would be well. _But that is exactly what you can’t do. Now or ever. George is off limits, no matter how much I can see him coming out of his skin right now_. “No touching. Yes, sir.”

George grinned and peeked at Ben from the corner of his eye. “Although, we do not need to be so formal if you do not wish it. You could call me George. And I hear Alex and Gilbert call you Ben. I believe you prefer it?”

Ben wanted to say yes, and still, he shook his head instead. “I think adding intimacy to our relationship will only confuse things, sir.” _And besides, I love the way you say “Benjamin.”_

“As you wish.”

They fell silent, Ben not knowing what to do, and not in a mood to make the moment easier for George when it was so difficult for him. Finally, George had to speak. “I think we will likely get nothing more productive done this week.”

“No,” said Ben, closing his copy of _Cato_ , which still lay open on the desk to the speech that might not be just about filial love. “What would you like me to have done for next week?”

“Perhaps you could list all the examples of filial love in the play, so as to give us a better idea of what needs to be included in the outline. Get as far as you can. I do not expect you to finish.”

Ben just nodded, trying not to think of the fact he had already done this once before, the list one of the many bits of research Arnold had taken with him. _Would you be happier with Arnold? Maybe. Would you write a better paper? Who knows. You were so fucking far along, though. Would you be as heartbroken and in love? Absolutely not_. Ben shoved _Cato_ and his notebook into his backpack. “See you next week, sir.”

“Until then, Benjamin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. That speech is just about filial love. Ben is reaching. *snort*


	6. Chapter 6

The next few weeks were fucking miserable. Ben’s meetings with George ( _Washington?_ ) were about as comfortable as Gulliver in Laputa, every ounce of the stodgy academic George could be on full display. He even started criticizing Ben’s work for the first time. Two months ago, Ben had expected George (then Washington) to find his work wanting, to demand more time, more work, more than Ben had to give. Instead, there had been nothing but support from Washington. George, on the other hand, said Ben’s notes were sloppy, his outline thin. _He’s Jekyll and Hyde. Dr. Washington and George. As soon as he gave over even slightly to sin, he became someone else. And now I’m left without the Dr. Washington I need as an advisor or the George I desire as a man. What a mess_.

Instead of heading to George’s office— _Yes, George. You had your tongue in his mouth. That puts you on a first name basis, at least in your head_ —with anticipation and excitement, he now trudged up the stairs, sure not to arrive early. Instead of pulling the green chair around to sit next to George, he left it at the side of the desk and twisted awkwardly when they attempted to look at the same thing. It was no different this week, their third since the day they had kissed, and Ben checked his watch as often as he looked at his notes, wishing the time would go by faster. They actually had no set end time, their meetings always taking at least an hour, but often they would go for an hour and half and once even for two hours. Today when that sixtieth minute ticked by, Ben said, “I need to go, Professor Washington.”

“Oh?” George asked, glancing up from the journal he had open on his desk. “Well, of course, if you do not wish to finish this article, you needn’t.”

Ben fought the urge to snap, but he was just so tired—tired of redoing work he had already done, tired from staying up too late studying for psych, tired of not being able to crawl into George’s lap and devour him. His entire life exhausted him, and he couldn’t remain surrounded by this tension for another minute today. He was done. “Sir, I will finish it, just not right this second. I have a lot on my plate, and I’m still trying to track down that one article. I just….”

For all the pent-up anger Ben wanted to unleash, he couldn’t find the words to express how frustrating he found this process right now. He knew he had to turn in the finished annotated bibliography next Friday and the first section of the paper in a month, plus they had decided he ought to have the outline completely hashed out when he turned in the first section as well, and it was too damned much. All his available words were going into this stupid fucking thesis and attempts to sound normal around George. He could speak no more.

“It is no trouble, Benjamin,” George said with a grimace. “Make a photocopy in the office and finish it at your leisure. That seems to be a pace that suits you these days. The annotated bibliography is only due at out next meeting and the end of the semester is only a month away, but that’s no reason why you should be working harder on your thesis.” George closed the journal and pushed it across the desk at Ben.

If Ben had been speechless before, he could not have spoken now if his entire academic career depended on it. George wanted the bib Wednesday, not at the end of the week as he had said a month ago? Fucking hell. Ben bent over and shoved his notebook and pen in his bag, and when he sat back up, he couldn’t miss George’s scowl, the utter disapproval and contempt that had been building for three weeks completely visible on his face. “You realize that I’m working with a handicap. There was a time you took that into consideration.”

“And if I continue to grant you that _consideration_ ,” the last word oozed out of his mouth as though it had a physical taste and it was a rotten one, “you will not make your deadlines. But I’m sure you will feel as much satisfaction in blaming Dr. Arnold for that fact as you would from finishing your thesis instead.”

“That is completely unfair, and you know it. I’ve already found more resources at this stage than most people writing a thesis. Comparatively, you know I’m ahead of the game, but that’s still not good enough for you.”

“Oh, well, if you only wish to write a comparatively good thesis, I am so pleased I decided to sacrifice my time to help you.”

Ben wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say next, but he did intend to say it loudly. But while he worked out what to say at high volume, George turned in his chair to face his computer, a gesture of unquestionable dismissal. “Leave the journal in my box in the office when you’re done.”

With nothing left to say, Ben left George’s office, managing a slammed door in pathetic reply. _Fucking man! How dare he! All because of a lousy damned kiss, he’s going to turn my senior year into hell. Well, fuck him_. In this rage, he made his way to the department office without paying much attention to anything along the way. As soon as he had his stupid photocopy, he would head back to his room and maybe go over things for psych before dinner. _Maybe have a beer. Is there any beer in the fridge? Fuck. Probably not. Fuck this fucking day_.

“Good lord. What did Washington do to you?” Alex said when Ben finally stumbled into the department office. Since Alex was already stationed at the photocopier, Ben joined him, a deep sigh leaving him when his back hit the wall and he dropped his bag on the floor. “God, I really thought he had better manners than to kick the dog.”

Ben almost chuckled and shook his head. “I’m tired, and I’m done trying to figure him out. Don’t supposed you have any keys to not setting him off?”

“If only I did!” After quickly checking on his copy job, Alex leaned over to whisper conspiratorially even though the secretary had stepped out and they were alone, “You need a drink. Want to swing by my office and commiserate?”

“Fuck, that sounds great. I need to get a copy of this first.”

Alex finished up his own job and then made Ben’s copy using Washington’s copier code. “Now,” Alex said, stuffing the journal into Washington box, “follow me.”

When they arrived in his office, Alex once more took supplies from his fridge to make them cocktails in coffee mugs. (This time, Alex had rum and Coke.) Ben took his gratefully and swallowed greedily, which made Alex chuckle as he reclined at his desk, one leg draped casually over the other. “So, it’s really that bad?”

Ben shook his head. “He’s pissed about my sources, but I know there was an article specifically talking about Cato as a father to all democracies that followed Rome, but I can’t find it again. But I’m wasting time I don’t have, because that bastard Arnold stole my work. I swear to God, it would have been faster to go to New York back in August and beat him until he gave me everything back than it is to find it and read it and notate it all the fuck over again. Especially with Washington suddenly breathing down my neck. Fuck. What if Arnold is already getting ready to publish something using my research?”

“I think you give him too much credit for being able to get his own work done, so I wouldn’t panic yet. And while your plan to employ violence is not an unsympathetic solution, it would prove somewhat difficult to complete your thesis from jail.”

“You might have a point. But I’m just so sick and tired of not being able to move forward. And Washington has been an unrelenting hardass for the last three weeks, and the stress is pissing me off.”

“Alcohol is fantastic for that.” Alex paused to have a sip of his recommended curative. “What’s he being difficult about specifically?”

“Outline and annotated bib. The bib is in good shape, in that what sources I have are there and annotated and ready to go. Not that he gives me credit for that. Oh, and he wants it two days sooner than we had agreed. The real problem is the missing damned sources. Which is also the problem with the outline. My original outline was built around the sources and the citations I wanted to make, so I know there are a couple of sections that don’t work, because I can’t remember the source or what exactly I wanted to say.”

“Find a new source. Say something different.”

Ben shook his head while he swallowed a mouthful. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is exactly that easy.”

Someone knocked on the office door, and Ben jumped, looking for somewhere to hide his coffee mug. But Alex smiled and whispered, “It’s just a Coke.” With a quick wink, he sat back and said in full voice, “Come in.”

“Alex! Darling! It is lovely to see you!” Gilbert rushed into the tiny office, and in two steps was leaning over Alex and kissing him on both cheeks. “And Ben! A delight to see you as well. Ah!” He raised his eyebrows and pushed the office door closed. “I have interrupted happy hour.”

“You’ve interrupted commiseration,” Alex said with a grin. “Would you like one and an opportunity to vent your gorgeous spleen?”

“My spleen is a magnificent specimen, I will have you know. My physician told me so when I was a little boy. But I do not have time for a cocktail, as much as I am tempted. You and I must go, Alex. Or did you forget we promised to meet the new literary magazine people?”

Alex nodded awkwardly as he drained his mug. “I did forget. And I have several pieces I wanted to take.” Rifling through the top drawer of his desk, Alex pulled out a thick beige file folder with loose paper threatening to spill out. “Where’s my bag?”  
  
“Behind you, darling. Stop panicking. I came early, just on the off chance you were not quite ready.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Lose yourself in this office and your piles of words.”

Ben had watched this exchange closely while he finished up his drink as fast as he could without straight up chugging it. But at this he paused and smiled, until he had to turn away, the radiance between them too personal to continue watching. _How do they do that every day? If George looked at me like that once for half a heartbeat, I’d die of overwhelming bliss_.

“I’ll get out of your way then,” Ben said, after he took his last swallow. “Thanks for the drink. I needed it.”

“Any time. Truly,” said Alex. “Well, except when I have to run.”

***

Ben’s mood did not improve the rest of the week, and come Friday, frankly, he desperately wanted to bail on the Berkeley College dance. Yes, it was his college’s dance and it was his senior year, and worse yet, it was a Shakespearean themed dance and he and Anna had coordinated costumes. But he didn’t want to be bothered. Anna wouldn’t actually miss him. Her costume would make sense without him, and they had done all their shopping at the Salvation Army, so it wasn’t as if he would be out that much money if he didn’t go running around on a coldass night in a kilt.

But then Anna had knocked on his door in her white dress spattered with red food coloring and red permanent marker all over her palms, and she said, “It really is just like _Macbeth_. You can’t get motivated to do a damned thing without me.”

Ben’s roommate, Mark, dressed in all black carrying a skull left over from Halloween the week before, looked over at Ben, still lying on his bed in jeans and the Rush t-shirt Abe and Caleb had bought him, and shook his head. “Dude, even I’m going to the dance. Have a shot of tequila and get dressed.” Pouring said shot for Ben, another for Anna, and one for himself, Mark raised his shot glass and said, “I drink to the general joy.”

After that, Ben, of course, shooed everyone out and put on his kilt and white button down, and grabbed his bloody dagger, and headed down to the dining hall for the dance.

Well, they didn’t head _directly_ down to the dining hall. They stopped at his friend Judith’s suite and had a beer. Then he, Anna, and Mark poked their heads in to ask Augie if he were ready to head down with them, and somehow ended up doing a couple Jell-O shots first. So, Ben wasn’t really sure how long it took them to get from his suite to the dining hall, but when he walked in, he felt exactly lubricated enough to work off the frustration of his week on the dance floor.

He and Anna, naturally, had to comment on some of the more remarkable costumes first, and they enjoyed having Mark as an audience. Several other skull-toting, black-clad Hamlets wandered by, one trailed by a frazzled girl smacking him with a bouquet of fake flowers. There were also quite a few _Midsummer Night’s_ fairies with varying wing quality.

“Oh look! Someone with all black clothes and a little more imagination,” Anna said, with a laugh, smacking Mark on the arm. She then pointed, and Ben finally saw none other than one of his suitemates, Josh, in all black, like Mark, but with a pillow or something stuffed down the back of his jacket to give him a hunched back.

“What’s that?” Ben asked, pointing at a girl in a white dress with angle wings dancing with a boy in what looked like a halfassed attempt at a chainmail shirt.

“You are living under a rock this semester,” Anna said, shaking her head.

“Hell, even I know what that is,” Mark said.

“I suppose you’ve never heard this song, either?” poked Anna.

Ben looked askance at Anna, not having the first guess about the song that sounded like Garbage. “What? I’ve been busy. Clearly, I’ve missed some terrible significant event in pop culture.”

“New modern-dress _Romeo and Juliet_ movie,” Anna explained. “It opened last weekend. But the soundtrack has been everywhere.”

“Holy fuck,” Mark said, staring wide-eyed and a little scared at the door. “And here comes Mercutio. That costume takes balls.”

As Ben turned to see what Mark marveled at, Anna said, “Would probably be safer without balls. That’s one short fucking skirt. Wait, Ben, isn’t that the sort of smarmy guy who was talking to you in the Anchor that one time earlier this semester?”

“Yeah. Only, I think he’s okay. Really.” It was, indeed, Freddy Morgan in the most outrageous costume Ben had ever witnessed. White top, best described as a large, shiny bra, miniscule white skirt, white stockings held up by white garters, all topped by a white cape and even whiter afro wig. _What the fuck? Is that really supposed to be Mercutio? Shakespeare never imagined that. But fuck, Freddy has nice legs, and way more ab definition than I would have guessed_.

“Mark, wanna go dance?” Anna asked.

“Sure,” answered Mark.

They had walked away and left Ben gaping for several seconds before it dawned on him what they had said. But it was too late to find them, and Freddy had caught him staring and was already headed straight for him.

“The number one reason I came to this party, was so I’d have a chance to wear this,” Freddy said when he reached Ben and stopped far too close to be casual. “The second reason was because I hoped to run into you.” Freddy ran the tips of his fingers up and down Ben’s arm. “Let’s go dance.”

Ben grasped his hand and led the way out to join the other dancers. When he felt sufficiently lost in the crowd, but carved out a little bit of room, he turned to face Freddy, who did not hesitate to move his body against Ben as he began to dance. They’d only just arrived when a new song started, which made Freddy grin. “So, who do you think is whose pretty piece of flesh in this scenario?” He wrapped his cape around them and whispered in Ben’s ear, “I’m not wearing anything under mine. Are you wearing anything under yours?”

Emboldened by the dark and cape enclosing them, Ben took Freddy’s hand and dragged it up his thigh until it reached his groin where he would surely have hit underwear if Ben had put any on. “Didn’t seem appropriate to the costume.”

They began grinding against each other, breath hot on each other’s necks, hands wandering to barely safe places for public. _Tonight is finally the night. This hookup is a long time coming, and I fucking need it. Fuck George, fuck school, fuck it all._

“I want to fuck you,” Ben said into Freddy’s ear.

“About fucking time. And while I know yours is closer, I don’t sleep in a room with anyone else, so you’re coming to mine,” he giggled. “And coming and coming and coming.”

***

Freddy’s apartment wasn’t far—he had a couple rooms in the upstairs of a house a few blocks north of campus. They stumbled up the stairs, hands constantly under each other’s skirts, brushing sensitive spots, giving gentle tugs. It was filthy and ridiculous. And exactly what Ben needed tonight.

Freddy pushed open his door, and as soon as he removed his cape with a flourish, he locked the door behind them, and leaned against it. He rubbed his hands over his thighs and up his hips as he pressed a sequined high heel behind him to the door. “You are such a fucking deviate. The way you’re looking at me right now, while I’m dressed like this. You unexpectedly dirty boy.”

“Your skirt is tenting.”

Freddy smirked down at his erection. “So I am. Lube and condoms are on the dresser beside you if you want to do anything about it.”

Ben looked at the dresser, and dammit if Freddy didn’t have a giant pump bottle of lube. _Anna might not be entirely wrong about Freddy’s level of promiscuity. But that’s what brought me here tonight, after all._ Without hesitating, Ben pressed to get several squirts of lube in his left hand before stalking over to Freddy. He pulled the skirt up with his right, which he also used to pull Freddy away from the door so he could reach around and push a finger inside.

“Oh fuck yes,” Freddy moaned, tilting his head back. “Please tell me you’re as dirty as you are pretty.”

Ben bit Freddy’s lower lip before forcing his head back flush with the door by the force of their kiss. Freddy was aggressive with his tongue and Ben fought back, pushed his finger harder into Freddy, rocked their erections together. Ben longed to fuck away his horrible week, and he felt every bit as dirty as Freddy hoped he would be. He had no idea why Freddy wanted this so much—Ben assumed he might have reasons beyond merely finding Ben attractive—but whatever the case, they both clearly wanted something hard and messy. Something that would make them feel and forget.

From the door, they stumbled to the floor, where Freddy pulled down pillows and blankets from the bed. Ben worked him open to an incessant stream of moans and dirty talk from Freddy. At one point as they rolled around, Ben’s fingers never leaving their task, Ben’s kilt ended up around his waist. Freddy giggled when he asked, “Is this a dagger I see before me?” Ben curled his fingers and found Freddy’s prostate, and he stopped quoting Shakespeare.

Groping atop the dresser for a condom and more lube, Ben slicked himself as Freddy grinned at him. Ben didn’t know how well he would be able to concentrate with Freddy’s smirk distracting him, so he pulled Freddy up and then pushed him over onto all fours. The tiny white skirt pushed up around his waist, everything still on—halter top, stocking, heels—Ben draped his kilt over Freddy’s ass, grabbed him by the hips, and pushed deliberately in.

It felt good, or more than that, it felt like a deep exhalation of relief, a release of tension he had been holding in his body for he knew not how long. Ben lost himself in his thrusts, the rhythm of fucking Freddy, the tightness enveloping his cock. He could have gone on like this infinitely, but eventually Freddy’s panting words penetrated his consciousness. “Fuck. Ben. I need…. Fuck.”

Ben pulled out and unceremoniously pushed Freddy over on his back. As soon as he had a pillow shoved under Freddy’s hips, Ben pressed Freddy’s right knee to his chest and entered him again. “Fucking hell,” Freddy exclaimed, head thrown back. He reached for his cock, but Ben wanted to do it for him.

But Ben couldn’t balance and get the leverage he needed to keep fucking Freddy with one hand hold up Freddy’s leg, and the other on his cock. Freddy, though, instantly saw the problem, draping the leg around Ben’s back and propping Ben up with one of his hands on Ben’s shoulder. The position was electric, and clearly as much so for Freddy as for Ben—Freddy came in long spurts on his stomach, up to his chest.

Even with the use of both hands, Ben’s own climax was so close, he had difficultly maintaining balance. Somehow, Freddy still had his wits, and gripped Ben’s shoulder tighter. But moments before Ben’s orgasm hit, he pulled his shoulder free, slid his throat into Freddy’s open hand, and leaned his weight onto it. He thought he head Freddy whisper, “Total deviant,” as he came.

But when Ben spent inside Freddy, instead of his mind going blank, enjoying the moment of release, he thought of George. He roared deep in his throat, wishing he could scream openly, and just hoping Freddy would mistake that rumble he felt under his fingers for pleasure as opposed to frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the tradition of naming characters for people my hubby and I knew in college, Mark was my hubby’s college roommate. A few years after graduation while he was visiting Seattle, he was killed in a drive by shooting.
> 
> Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet opened Nov. 1, 1996 and was quite the talk amongst folks in the English and Theater Departments. The two songs mentioned from the soundtrack are Garbage “Crush” and One Inch Punch “Pretty Piece of Flesh.” And if you’ve never seen the Mercutio costume I’m referencing, you really ought to check it out, because Mark’s reaction is entirely natural.


	7. Chapter 7

When Ben woke the next morning, he felt surprisingly refreshed. After having sex on the floor, he and Freddy had showered and then sucked each other off before falling asleep. He honestly couldn’t believe how much he’d needed what they’d done last night, but after a hot shower and two orgasms, he had slept better than he had in ages. He looked over at Freddy now as sunlight hinted at the edge of his miniblinds, and he thought about interesting ways in which he might wake Freddy up, but something made him hold back. As good as last night had been in so many ways, he still remembered how much George had been in his thoughts even at the most inappropriate times. Freddy had done more than enough for him—it was time for Ben to head home.

Freddy never stirred as Ben dressed, so Ben didn’t wake he before heading downstairs. He was on the point of just leaving after hitting the bathroom, but he was so damned thirsty, the walk back to Berkeley without a glass of water first struck him as miserable. _It’s already 9:00. People are already awake to see your monumental walk of shame in costume. Grabbing a glass of water first won’t make a difference_.

The kitchen was in the back of the house, and Ben found a clean glass without too much trouble. He let the tap run for a minute to get the water a little colder, then filled the glass, and drank it empty in a few quick gulps. He refilled it and finally turned off the tap, this time drinking a bit more slowly.

And that was how Peggy found him—leaning against the counter next to the sink, enjoying his water.

“Isn’t this a surprise,” she said flatly, standing in the doorway leading back into the rest of the house as well as the front door.

“Peggy. Hi. I…um….”

“Hooked up with Freddy,” she said, scanning him head to toe. “After what I really hope was a costume party.”

“You’ve pretty much got it. Yeah.”

She shrugged and finally passed the threshold into the kitchen, seeming very much at home, as she went straight for the coffeemaker and got it going with coffee she found without having to search for it in the refrigerator. “If anything, I’m shocked it took Freddy this long to get you back here. Please tell me you haven’t fallen for him or anything ridiculous, though.”

Peggy asking him if he had feelings for Freddy was the most unexpected angle she could have taken in this conversation. Neither of them had sprouted feelings after they’d fucked last Christmas, after all. “Hardly. I had a good time, and as soon as I finish this water, I’m planning to head back to my room.” He drained his glass in a single swallow. “I’ll see you around,” he said, setting the glass on the counter.

“I should probably warn you,” she said, intently watching the coffeemaker drip, “BA is getting ready to publish a paper on _Cato_. You might want to rethink your thesis.”

Ben stopped just short of the doorway leading out of the kitchen _. This is not fucking happening. She did not just say those words, because this cannot be happening_. “He’s what?” Ben asked, slowly turning back to face Peggy.

“BA, Dr. Benedict Arnold, your former advisor, is prepping a paper on the obscure 18th Century British play by Joseph Addison, _Cato_ , for publication. You ought to withdraw your thesis before he publishes, because it’s not going to look good if your thesis turns out to be a copy of your former advisor’s most recent peer reviewed article.”

“He _stole_ my work. You know that.”

“No one is going to care, Ben. _You_ have to know _that_.”

“Oh my God, is that coffee I smell?” Freddy called from the hallway. Ben turned just in time to see him stumble into the kitchen, flowing blue robe billowing from his frame covered only by a pair of purple pajama pants perched low on his hips. “Two angels and hot coffee. This is a most glorious morning.” He kissed Ben on the cheek before pushing straight by him to kiss Peggy’s cheek as well and take a coffee mug from a cupboard just above the pot. “So, what are you two darlings talking about.”

“ _Cato_ ,” answered Peggy without additional explanation.

“Ugh,” Freddy said, pulling the still dripping coffeepot from the burner and sneaking a cup early. “I do not understand the frequency with which that play gets mention in my presence. Who could possibly be interested in such an oddity?”

“I need to get going,” Ben said. “See you around Freddy.”

***

Ben occasionally made good use of the three-day weekend for Veterans’ Day. He caught up with his psych class and thought he’d probably be ready for the test that week, polished his final draft for the classics paper he had due, and read the next chapter for French. But he never managed more than half an hour consecutively on his thesis. Every time he sat down to look for additional sources and annotate them, he grew frustrated, still unable to find the article he most wanted, now wondering if he had hallucinated it. _If it doesn’t exist, maybe I should write it_. The thought made him chuckle, but he didn’t actually find it funny.

After he finished his work for his other three classes, he spent the Monday holiday walking in the crisp air of New Haven with his Discman listening to Rodgers and Hart. Tuesday after he finished classes for the day, he still didn’t work on his annotated bib. Instead he drank alone in his room (Mark in the library as usual) cursing the names Arnold and Washington, occasionally throwing in Shippen, as he wondered how in the hell she knew what Arnold planned to publish. He felt so pathetic. This was supposed to be his come back year. Junior year had been such a mess with Nathan leaving, but that pain had finally faded, and he knew what he wanted, and he was going to write his thesis and have fun and enjoy the fuck out of his last year at Yale. But first Arnold and then George had thwarted that plan.

 _I should have another shot_. Ben closed one eye so he could focus on pouring the Seagram’s 7 into the shot glass. He emptied the glass, and then had a brilliant idea. “Directory assistance still totally exists,” he said out loud. He scooted over on his bed until he could reach his phone, and careful where he pressed his finger, he slowly punched 1-212-555-1212.

Having never used directory assistance before, he was shocked when his inquiry for Benedict Arnold netted a result. He jotted down the number and dropped the phone back on the receiver as though it were on fire. _Are you really going to do this? Are you going to call the bastard? The_ rat _bastard, that stole your work? Give him a piece of your mind? Tell him just what’s going to happen if he really tries to publish an article on_ Cato _using your research? Fuck yes, I am_.

Once more, Ben squinted at his phone, starting over twice, to make certain he dialed the number right. But then the phone started ringing, and a thrill went through his body that this might be about to happen. Yet, the longer the phone rang, he worried this all might be for nothing and no one would answer. _What if I get a machine? Should I leave a message?_

“Hello?”

It was Arnold. There was no doubt in his mind. Fucking Benedict Arnold. Traitor.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“Hey, Dr. Arnold. It’s Ben Tallmadge. The student whose research you fucking stole? I really need the citation for that article about—”

“What are you doing? How did you get this number?”

“Directory assistance, asshole. Now, the article about Cato as father to all subsequent democracies. I need the goddamned citation. What the fuck is it?”

“My God! Are you drunk?”

Ben chuckled, Arnold’s astute deduction striking him as incredibly perceptive. “Most definitely. Now, the citation. I need it by tomorrow, or Professor Washington is going to throw my annotated bib back in my face.”

“If you call here again, I’ll have the number changed.”

Ben was about to offer a trade—never calling again in exchange for one lousy fucking citation, but the line went dead before he could make the suggestion.

***

As Ben dragged himself up the stairs of the theater department the next day at 3:00, his hangover was mostly gone. He still wasn’t a fan of food and the dull ache behind his eyes persisted, but he hadn’t thrown up in four hours, and he considered that a victory. How he was going to manage an hour with George, he couldn’t even guess. _Maybe he’ll just want the bib and send me on my way? Please, God, let that be so_.

“Ah! Ben! Hold up for a second.”

Alex popped out of his office, Ben surprised Alex could see who was passing in the hall from the way his desk angled, but Ben was in no condition to question such things at the moment. Instead, he just stopped, and waited for Alex to look him over. “Good Lord. You look like absolute hell. Do you need a hair of the dog?”

Ben stomach lurched at the very mention. “Fuck no.”

“Understandable. You must have been entirely trashed.”

“Yeah. I probably had a little too much for a Tuesday night.”

“Ben? Do you remember what you did last night?”

Ben stared at Alex, not sure what he might be getting at. Yes, he remembered, as much as he’d like to forget, but what was that to Alex? “Yeah. I usually do.”

“So, you remember calling Arnold?”

“What the hell? How do you know about that?”

Alex took hold of Ben’s upper arm and dragged him into his office and closed the door behind them. It took Ben a moment to realize the chair from the desk of one of the TAs he shared the office with had been moved so he could watch the hallway. “Have a quick seat and let me pour you some Gatorade.” Ben fell into the chair without protest that he was about to be late for his meeting with George and gratefully accepted the bright red liquid in a white coffee mug that had “Boola! Boola!” printed in navy blue on the side.

“How bad is it?” Ben asked after taking as big a drink as his stomach would tolerate.

“Very. Arnold called Dr. Lee this morning about your, well, drunk dial, and Lee has been on the warpath ever since. First, he complained to Dr. Reed and said you should be expelled, but Reed always hated Arnold and isn’t crazy about Lee, either, and he said it wasn’t a departmental matter. Then Lee turned up down here and gave Washington an earful. Washington showed as much emotion as you might expect from someone getting a weather forecast for a pleasant spring day, but as soon as Lee left, he went straight into bitch mode and hasn’t left it all day.” Alex paused to take a deep breath and Ben liked nothing about his countenance, all pinched mouth, pitying frown, pathetic eyes. “I honestly don’t know what Washington is going to say to you when you get in there, but I doubt it’s going to be good. I didn’t want you getting blindsided.”

Ben drank some more of the Gatorade and looked at the clock on the wall. He was already five minutes late, which wasn’t going to help matters at all. “Thanks.” Ben put the mug down, still half full. “I better get in there.”

“Do you want to use my phone? Call in sick?”

As much as he appreciated the offer, Ben shook his head. “I have to face this eventually. Let’s get it over with now while I already feel like shit.”

“Feel free to stop by after if you need to talk.”

With unsteady arms, Ben pushed himself up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

But as he walked the rest of the way down the hallway to George’s office, what bravado he had mustered for Alex completely deserted him. He hesitated outside of the office, much as he had that day back in August when he had come here to ask Washington to be his advisor. But eventually he moved into view and tapped on the doorframe.

“Come in, Benjamin. Have a seat.” George never looked away from his computer while he spoke.

While he waited, Ben opened his bag and pulled out his bibliography, still missing that one source, but otherwise containing the rest and more. _Not that it matters. You have fucked up. You and Seagram’s and your bright ideas about Directory Fucking Assistance_.

With a dramatic click of his mouse, George whirled around in his chair to face Ben, his face as stony as it had ever been. Ben tried to swallow, but his mouth was impossible dry. He felt sweaty and chilled all at once under George’s imposing gaze that he seemed in no hurry to end. In fact, they sat in silence, just staring until Ben dropped his eyes to his lap. Still, George said nothing for what felt like hours. “The world of academia is very small,” George said. “Whatever you think of people, you will be seeing them and working with them for the rest of your career. Assuming you are lucky enough to have a career in academia. You understand that, do you not, Benjamin?”

Somehow, this opening, this “Let me teach you an important life lesson” schtick was even worse than the ass chewing he’d been fearing. He’d heard stories from Alex that George only lost, really lost, his temper once every year or two, but Ben had been prepared to feel the brunt of his wrath for the 1996-1997 school year. _Why doesn’t he just yell? My head can’t feel any worse._

“Please answer me, Benjamin.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“If you intend to be a successful academic, you need to have more than one idea. Perhaps you should let this one go.”

Ben’s head snapped up, or as close to snappy as he could manage today. “You mean just let that thieving bastard have my hard work?”

“Yes. That is precisely what I mean.” George leaned back in his chair and released a pent up breath. “I’m not saying what he did is right or ethical in any manner. I am just as furious with Dr. Arnold’s behavior as you are, but since you are not able to control and focus that anger in a productive way, I am wondering if perhaps abandoning your current thesis topic might not be a good decision, for you personally and for your future. Because whatever we both think of Dr. Arnold’s behavior, we are both going to have to deal with him for decades to come at conferences, on peer review committees, though our relationships with colleagues.”

“Sir, I understand that, but don’t make me give this up. I’m sorry I called Dr. Arnold and I’m far more sorry that it’s caused trouble for you. But this thesis means too much to me, and I’ve already done too much work. Arnold will never hear from me again, and I’ll let that damned missing source go, but I’m still writing this paper. I _have_ to. Please help me.”

George studied Ben with his most enigmatic stare, and Ben wanted to shake him until he just said what the hell he was thinking. And then a subtle change washed over George’s face, but Ben couldn’t say if it were harder or softer, determined or resigned. Ben didn’t breathe until George said, “Very well. Judging by your pallor, you are in no fit state to work today. We will meet Friday at 3:00 to go over your bibliography and discuss what will need adjusted going forward.”

“Thank you, Professor Washington. I appreciate you giving me another chance.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Benjamin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many notes for this one, other than to say, I still have my Discman, thankyouverymuch, and "Boola! Boola!" is a popular Yale song.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It suddenly dawned on me that the next chapter I had to post is the Thanksgiving break chapter, so clearly, I needed to post it today! Enjoy!  
> (Also, the concrete rhino is real.)

Ben had to hurry or Anna would yell at him all the way to Setauket about how he almost made them miss their train. Still, he couldn’t leave for Thanksgiving break without first seeing George, even if they had finally talked and managed a brief laugh at their Wednesday meeting two days earlier. The horrible Arnold incident seemed to be entirely behind them, and work on his thesis genuinely felt as though it might, possibly, fingers crossed, be on the right track. Personally, Ben dare not think about it, but they were civil with each other, and while Ben ached for George as much as ever, he had behaved like the good little preacher’s son he could occasionally be.

It didn’t stop Ben from dreaming of George or taking himself in hand with the sound of George’s silky voice in his ear, but he could only expect so much from himself.

Ben found George working on his computer when he leaned against the doorframe and knocked. When George spun around, a smile so large it crinkled the corners of his eyes, it knocked the breath out of Ben. So when George asked what Ben needed, he briefly forgot the thin excuse he had manufactured to stop by.

“Oh, I, um, ran across a new Sheridan article yesterday in the library. You’ve probably seen it, but I brought it, just in case.”

“The one by Howard at U Penn?” George asked, and Ben nodded in reply. “Yes. I was one of the peer reviewers for that article. Interesting work, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed, having found the article genuinely interesting, although not as good as any of George’s work on Sheridan’s _School for Scandal_.

“I’m quite happy that you’ve stopped by, Benjamin. I just found something I think you will find as exciting as I do.”

Ben finally stepped into the office and dropped his bag to the floor, but before he could take his usual seat, George waved him over to look at his computer screen. Careful not to allow his body to brush against George’s, Ben leaned over and squinted. He stared at the hideous lime green page with some terrible animation of theater masks for several long seconds trying to decipher what George wanted him to read. But then he thought he understood, and he scooted forward more for a better look, head shaking. “Someone is performing _Cato_?”

“Isn’t it thrilling? And it’s only over in Stamford. It opens January 3. When do you intend to return to campus from Christmas break? I will gladly get us tickets, because we can’t pass up this opportunity to see it on stage.”

“This is amazing! But, yeah, I really haven’t thought about my Christmas break schedule yet. I’ll talk to my family this week and let you know when I get back.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, Ben gasped, fear nearly overwhelming him. “You don’t think it will sell out this week?”

George smiled, those lovely crinkles showing at the corners of his eyes again, and Ben realized that when he’d leaned closer to confirm the good news on the computer screen, his thigh had come to rest on George’s forearm. He shuddered a bit and prayed all the emotion racing through him didn’t show on his face. “I find that highly doubtful,” George said. “Enjoy your Thanksgiving, Benjamin.”

“You, too, sir.”

***

“You know, it’s okay if you’re a mess,” Abe said as he pushed the basket of ribs at Ben.

“Drown your sorrows in booze and food,” Caleb added, as though this were a particularly sage bit of advice. “I’ll even hold your hair when you start puking later.”

Ben laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, which was getting a bit long, but he was in no danger of puking in it, even if he did drink too much, which he wasn’t planning on. “Really, I’m fine. It was good to hear from Nathan.”

This trip to Applebee’s had been sparked by the arrival in the mail that afternoon of a letter from Nathan. Per tradition, everyone was at the Tallmadges’ for the day after Thanksgiving, eating the mounds of extra food Ben’s mom always made, Abe and Caleb eating the apple pie his mom had made specially for the two of them, while Anna put together leftover packages for people to take home. Ben hadn’t given opening Nathan’s letter in front of them a second thought. Nathan was well, stationed at Fort Belvior in Virginia doing something terribly secret and loving every minute of it. He also had a boyfriend.

For a moment, Ben had been taken aback, but he thought he mostly recovered fairly quickly, and probably would have been completely fine if it hadn’t been for his mom abandoning the extra gravy she was making to hug him. “Oh, honey. I am so sorry. I’m telling you, that boy never deserved you.” She got corn starch all over him.

Being his best friends in the world, Anna, Caleb, and Abe decided on the spot that they were taking Ben to Applebee’s that night to get “shit faced” in Caleb’s words. He didn’t think he needed this level of attention simply because Nathan had found someone new, but why the fuck not, when Caleb agreed to be the designated driver, and they all promised to buy him a round. Considering his plan had been to hide in his room working on his thesis, which would just lead to getting depressed about George, he thought going out could only be good for him.

Abe flagged down their waitress to order another round—Singapore Sling for Caleb, vodka tonic for Ben, and a beer for himself—and then he asked, “So, if you’re over Nathan, and you’re so happy for him, are you seeing someone else?”

Ben stole a smoke out of Caleb’s pack and lit it so he wouldn’t have to answer right away. Of course, his mind immediately went to George, but then he also remembered his hookup with Freddy, and he was so glad Anna wasn’t there yet to tell Abe and Caleb the details of _that_ night. “I don’t have to be seeing someone new to prove I’m over someone else.”

“Spoken like a man still carrying a torch,” Caleb said, and then lighting his own cigarette.

“Just wait until Anna gets back from Aunt Myrtle’s. She’ll have the scoop for us,” Abe assured Caleb.

“Anna will have nothing to tell you that I can’t tell you myself. There is no one, and I am perfectly fine with that.”

Both of them stared across the table at Ben, then looked at each other suspiciously, before turning back to Ben. “He’s lying,” Abe said.

“Yep.”

“Does he think we don’t know him?”

“Pretty stupid of him.”

“Guys,” Ben sighed. “I’m sitting right here, and I am not carrying a torch for Nathan. Yes, the news was surprising, but I’m over him.”

“He still looks off,” insisted Abe.

“Oh shit!” Caleb said, griping Abe’s upper arm and shaking him. “I’ve got it! Oh, Tallboy, you sly bastard! There is someone else, Abe! _That’s_ what he’s lying about!”

“What’s Ben lying about?” Anna asked, surprising them all by slipping into the booth next to Ben. “And Caleb Brewster, tell me that is your first and only cocktail.”

Caleb studied his drink closely as though its presence shocked him, and then he shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Good to drive my fucking car out of here with all of us in it?” Caleb wilted under Anna accusing glare. She turned to Ben. “So, what round are you on?”

“Um…three?”

“Actually, I think this is four,” Abe said, a confession that was followed by Caleb smacking him.

Anna sighed and shook her head at them all. “Here is what’s going to happen. I’m going to drive your sorry drunk asses home tonight, and tomorrow, Caleb ‘I’m an irresponsible asshat’ Brewster, you are going to drive us to all the lunches, dinners, and parties we’ve been invited to. How many places are we scheduled to hit tomorrow?”

Ben smirked. “Five. I think there are multiple grandparents on there. The kinds of visits that are really only tolerable with a certain amount of wine.”

“And a hipflask,” Abe added.

“And Uncle Lucas’s apple brandy,” Anna added with a malicious grin.

“Oh, Anna, darling,” pleaded Caleb. “He’s _my_ Uncle Lucas, after all, and you know how I live for his apple brandy. You wouldn’t do this to me.”

“The fuck I wouldn’t. Be glad I’m not leaving you right now to call, oh, Judge Woodhull to come pick you all up.”

Ben nearly spit vodka tonic out of his mouth at the notion they would call Abe’s dad for a ride home. If Caleb had been thinking, he would have thought to call Lucas Brewster to come get them, but Anna was right about it being his turn to drive, and he would have to take his just punishment. Watching Caleb wriggle, Ben found himself happier than ever that he’d offered to drive their first night home.

“So,” Anne said, waving their waitress over, “what’s Ben lying about? I can always get the truth out of him.” Everyone laughed as she pointed her finger accusingly an inch from his nose and then ordered a basket of wings and an iced tea.

“He says he’s not still madly in love with Nathan,” explained Abe. “But we think he’s in love with someone else. What do you know?”

“I know a couple weeks ago he had one of the most monumental walks of shame in the history of drunk American college students, but I’m pretty sure it’s not love. Damned well better not be,” she muttered as she lit a cigarette.

Of course, Caleb and Abe demanded details, and Anna told them everything she knew about his night with Freddy, while he blushed in the corner of the booth. The truth was, part of him longed to talk about George, and if he couldn’t talk to these three, there was literally no one on earth he could talk to. But to put his feelings and the impossibility of the situation into words was something he couldn’t organize. He could write ten pages on _Coriolanus_ , recite Latin verse in front of a crowd, speak extemporaneously about the structure of the Roman Senate, but George defied words.

 _Do I actually know how I feel? I know there is attraction, in both directions. We kissed and he couldn’t deny the Rodgers and Hart song. His voice makes me tremble, and his rare smiles stop my breath. God! When he turned to look at me to tell me about_ Cato _in Stamford! I’ve never seen such joy from him. If I thought his penetrating gaze at Mory’s was his best look, those crinkly-eyed smiles nearly undid me. What would I do if I ever made him that happy? How do I make him that happy?_

“Oh my God!” said Caleb. “Look at him! If that’s not a man thinking about love, I’ve never seen one.”

Ben snapped back from his reverie, not knowing what might have been showing on his face. “I…what are you even talking about?”

“You did have quite a look on your face,” Anna said. “Who were you just thinking about? Please say it wasn’t Freddy.”

“No. I’m telling you, I’m not interested in Freddy. I was thinking about my thesis.”

“In love with a paper?” Abe laughed. “Please remember to invite me to the wedding.”

“Hey,” Caleb jumped in, “whatever happened with your research that pigfucker Arnold stole?”

Ben slumped down in his seat and drank a goodly amount of his cocktail before answering. “Yeah. That’s a clusterfuck.” In the second great embarrassing moment of this night, he told them about the drunk dial and his lecture from George and everything else that had gone wrong because of his stolen notes. “So, yeah, we’re pushing ahead, and I’m doing my best to just let go what I’m never getting back.”

“But that’s bullshit,” Caleb declared. “That’s _your_ work. Your fucking _property_.” Without allowing Ben to voice the objections on the tip of his tongue, Caleb turned to Abe and said, “We’ve got to get it back.”

“Fuck yes, we do.”

“Guys,” Ben said with a loud sigh, his hand over his eyes, unable to believe this ludicrousness, “we have been over this. Do not commit a felony on my behalf.”

“Wait! We might not have to,” Abe said, suddenly very excited and leaning across the table conspiratorially in a way that made Ben extremely nervous. “I know a guy.”

“No good story has ever started with ‘I know a guy.’ Only cautionary tales,” said Anna.

“No, no. This is different. Caleb, I’m thinking Townsend.”

Caleb’s eyes widened with excitement that made Ben’s stomach flip in apprehension. “Yes!” said Caleb. “He can totally help us.”

Ben shook his head, wondering if all this idiocy might go away if he simply refused to respond to the things they were saying. But he knew Abe and Caleb well enough to know that at best he could hope explaining their ridiculous idea would get this out of their systems and they wouldn’t go through with it. After all, there had been multiple planning sessions in high school to steal the concrete rhino outside of the Santangelo and Jackson Concrete Company that led to nothing other than hilarious conversation. They wouldn’t really go through with any of this, but they would undoubtedly talk it through.

“Do I even want to know who Townsend is?” Ben finally asked, knowing how much they were dying to tell him.

“Robert Townsend,” Abe explained. “He lives down the hall from us and is a bartender around the corner from our building.”

“Great. A bartender. How does that get my research back?”

“He works at the bar where a lot of Columbia faculty drink,” Caleb said with a sly smile.

Ben sat up, his attention piqued, not because he thought he was closer to retrieving the research he had written off, but because this was sounding more like a stupid chance his friends would actually take that they should not. “There’s a lot of faculty. I doubt the English faculty drinks there.”

“Andre does,” Abe said with a raised eyebrow.

“Dr. John Andre?” Ben asked. “The English Department Chair?”

“Yep,” Abe continued. “And I know he has faculty meetings there, so that means, at least sometimes, Arnold. He gets drunk enough, who knows what might fall out of his bag? We’d just need Townsend to call us so we could be there when it happens.”

“You both realize how many ways this crime caper could go wrong?” Anna asked.

“How, pray tell, is it theft if we take what was never Arnold’s to begin with?” Caleb asked.

“Oh my God! I just read a case about this!” Abe said with a maniacal grin. “There was this case, _Streng v. Williams_.” Abe continued on in detail about the case, the specifics fascinating in that way weird legal cases always are, but Ben only grew more and more horrified at the dawning realization that this might not merely be a bullshit session about a crazy thing they would never do. He was genuinely petrified they were really going to do this thing. And get caught.

“This is ridiculous,” Ben finally bust in. “You can’t do this. How would you even know you were getting back _my_ things? He probably ripped my name out of the front of the books. And one computer disc looks remarkably like the next. This is really sweet, but please, just forget it.”

“You know we’d walk through fire for you?” Caleb asked.

Ben nodded. “Same as you know I’d never want you to.”

“Well, all this lovey-dovey crap is going to make me sick,” said Anna. “Drink up and pay the check. I need to get home and open a bottle of something stronger than iced tea.”


	9. Chapter 9

The printer in the Berkeley computer lab was broken, because of course it fucking was. Ben checked his watch and weighed the option of waiting for this one to get fixed versus finding another, and which was less likely to make him miss his deadline. _I don’t think George is going to mark me down if I don’t turn this in exactly at 3:00. If I’m fifteen minutes late, he isn’t going to make a big deal out of it_. But even as he thought this, Ben’s stomach churned at the picture forming in his mind of George’s disapproving scowl. He popped his disc out of the computer.

Back in his room, he didn’t bother with anything other than grabbing his coat, because of course the temperature had decided to plummet this week. He needn’t have wasted his time given how fast he walked to the University Theater. By the time he entered the building, he was sweating, and taking the stairs two at a time only made him hotter. And when he leaned against Alex’s office door, he was panting.

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” Alex said with a smile, looking up from a desk covered with yellow legal pads, pink post-it notes, and three stacks of books on Sheridan. “I didn’t know you and Washington were meeting during reading week.”

Ben shook his head and fought to catch his breath. “We aren’t meeting. I’m supposed to be turning in my first section and outline, and I can’t find a working printer.”

Bounding out of his chair, Alex slipped an arm over Ben’s shoulders. “Come with me.” Alex led them down the hall toward the department office, pausing just before they entered to whisper, “Give me your disc.”  Ben pulled it from his coat pocket, handing it furtively to Alex, who then proceeded to wave it in the air. “Let me just show you,” Alex said, pulling Ben into the office. “These are the files Dr. Washington wants you to consider over break. Let’s print you the ones you need.”

Ben stifled his chuckle as Alex steered them to a computer down near the copier and printer. Alex flashed his bright smile at the secretary, who blushed before turning back to her own work at the other end of the office. Chatting in a way that came across as surprisingly natural, Alex rambled on comfortably, and Ben wondered why his focus was production and not acting, because he clearly had a gift. All Ben had to do was occasionally answer the conversational questions Alex posed to continue the ruse for the secretary and point at the files once Alex had the disc open. Five minutes later, and only one minute past deadline, Ben was leaving the office with what he needed to turn in to George.

Out in the hall, Ben slapped Alex on the shoulder. “I owe you one. Actually, for everything you’ve done for me this semester, I owe you way _more_ than one. When we get back, night at the Anchor on me.”

Alex shook his head with a crooked grin twisting his lips. “No need. However, I never turn down free booze. Give me a call when you’re back.”

“Will do.”

Ben hurried down the hall, but decided literally running would be a bit much, especially since he’d only just managed to catch his breath. He didn’t need to show up at George’s office, panting like a sweaty maniac. _If I’m going to pant and sweat around George, I want to have a much better reason_. He snorted at this ridiculous and inappropriate thought, but picked up his pace a touch anyway.

George’s office door as usual was open, and the man himself was leaning back in his chair, a book open, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He wore a soft blue sweater and khakis, a typical ensemble, but somehow the picture he projected now in the hazy lamp light of his office made him look particularly…cozy. Ben wanted to rub his cheek on the shoulder of that sweater, feel the arms pulling him closer, hear the voice reading to him from the small, slim volume the strong hand now held open. Ben swallowed and cleared his throat as he tapped on the doorframe.

“Hello, Benjamin,” George said. He glanced at the clock on his desk. “I was almost ready to contemplate beginning to worry.”

Ben smiled and stepped in, the sheaf of stapled papers in his outstretched hand. “Printer malfunction. I honestly didn’t mean to cut it this close.”

“No worries.” George accepted Ben’s offering, his lips twitching at the corners as he looked at the stack before dropping it on his desk. “And now with that out of the way, you can concentrate on your finals next week. Dare I ask if you are ready?”

With a laugh, Ben dropped into his regular chair. “Well, Gilbert has my section ridiculously ready for our French final. I really lucked out with him. And not just because he’s a native speaker—he’s a natural teacher. It’s been a pleasure learning from him.”

“Finding genuinely good teachers—TAs or regular faculty—is rarer than many people think.”

“That’s actually a big part of why I’m really excited for next semester. I’m finally taking Donald Kagan’s Ancient Greek History lecture. I’ve heard really good things about it.”

“He’s quite an interesting example,” George said, leaning back again in his chair. “Giving compelling lectures to two hundred students and having actual learning happen is a very specific talent not every professor has. But Dr. Kagan is one of the few. I think you will enjoy it immensely.”

“And I suppose not every professor has a talent for this kind of one-on-one teaching.” Ben paused, wondering if he should complete his thought, but he had enough of his feelings for George tucked carefully away that he had nowhere new to put this one. “Thank you. Whatever else has happened this semester, I’ve learned a great deal, and that’s because of you. I can’t imagine ever having a better advisor.”

George sat up but averted his eyes. “Benjamin, that is very kind, but you need not say such things. I will have some idea, after all, of how I have done when I grade your work.”

“But it’s been so much more than just this paper,” Ben poured out, moving to the edge of his chair and bracing himself on George’s desk. “What I’ve learned about research and the workings of academia.” He stopped and only then realized how close his hand was to George’s on the desk. “What I’ve learned about myself,” he added in a whisper.

“You were already an especially bright and mature young man, Benjamin. I have done very little.” George’s voice was low, a slight rasp around the edges, and he still refused to look up. Ben could have no sooner held back from taking George’s hand than a man could wish out the tide, unstoppable forces dictating events.

“You’ve done so much,” Ben whispered as he raised slowly from his chair until he tucked under George’s bowed chin and pressed their lips together. At first he barely moved, keeping his mouth light against George’s, but as he encountered no resistance, Ben parted his lips, breathed against George’s mouth, pushed more, slipped his tongue past teeth and lips and then lips and teeth, until he was in George’s mouth, brushing their tongues together, tasting one another.

Ben squeezed the hand he still held, and George returned the gesture, the pressure gradually increasing until Ben’s fingers hurt and George suddenly pulled away and rose from his chair. In two swift steps, George was around Ben and at his door, slamming it closed. His heart racing, Ben jumped up and the second George turned back to face him, Ben had the length of his body pressing George firmly back against the door. His hand slipped behind George’s head, bringing their mouths together, this time in a frantic, wet kiss.

For a moment, a glorious second or perhaps even two, George moaned with pleasure, their hard cocks pressing against each other through pants. And then George’s undeniable hands found Ben’s shoulders and gently, but unmistakably, pushed them apart. “I did not close the door so that we might continue. I apologize for confusing the issue,” George said breathlessly. “We need to talk.”

“My feelings for you keep getting stronger,” Ben said without hesitation or shame. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

George looked right at Ben now, those dark eyes seeming to penetrate Ben’s soul. “In given situations, it can, indeed, be impossible to control one’s feelings, but actions may always be governed.” George dropped his hands from Ben’s shoulders and scooted around him to his chair, where he stood, not sitting down, his back to Ben. “We simply must not, Benjamin. We must not.”

“No one has to know.” Ben knew it was the wrong thing to say even as the words were leaving his mouth, and yet he had none others to offer. “And I know you can be objective about my work, whatever our personal relationship. Don’t say we must not.”

George turned his face in profile, glancing at Ben over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. A tiny smile hinted at the corner of his mouth, visible to Ben. “We would know, Benjamin. And secrets never stay so long in academia. As to my objectivity…I fear that has been compromised for some time, but I owe it to you to see this project through. We simply must find a way forward that does not include this happening again as long as I still have a grade to turn in for you.”

Ben nodded, mostly because what else could he do? “I’m sorry. Thank you for not being more upset.”

A soft chuckle came from George. “It is Christmas. We shall allow it to pass this one time.”

“You are much too nice to me, the way I push and never seem to listen,” Ben said. “I can’t even imagine what it is you see in me.”

George spun to face Ben, his eyes slightly squinting, those crinkles returning. “What I see in you? Benjamin, working with you has been one of the greatest pleasures of my years of teaching. I’ve rarely had the opportunity to work with a student of your caliber, and that includes my graduate students. And I do not simply mean your research abilities. You’re one of the finest academic writers I’ve ever seen. This isn’t the sort of thing serious professors are supposed to admit to thinking about, but pay particular attention to Dr. Kagan next semester and how he explains complex ideas. Like him, you have the making of a popular nonfiction author who can mix book sales with scholarly topics by making what we do here clear to the average reader. You’re so gifted, Benjamin.”

Ben could literally feel himself blushing and as hard as he tried to wish it away, he knew his face had turned red and he could not hide it from George. Of course, he’d never felt less capable of stringing together two coherent words. “I…” Ben laughed. “I don’t know what to say. I had no idea you thought so highly of my abilities. I certainly never thought of myself that way.” He licked his lips, head dipped, and peered up at George from under fluttering eyelids. “No one of your abilities has ever shown so much faith in me.”

George reached out his hand and rested it on Ben’s cheek. Ben closed his eyes and held his breath, at first uncertain if he were permitted to react, but then he let out a long breath and leaned into the touch and found himself supported by George’s comforting hand. “You’re so beautiful,” George said. “And when you look at me like you do….”

Ben opened his eyes, and something within George had loosened and uncovered itself for Ben to see for the first time. The desire in his eyes, the twist of his jaw, the brush of his thumb across Ben’s cheek, it all bespoke a vulnerability, a want and loss of control over his carefully constructed exterior, and Ben longed for nothing more than to crawl through that crack and embrace the inner George now on display for him. Ben nestled against George’s touch and kissed his palm.

“I’d forgotten what this felt like,” George said barely above a whisper. “You’ve reminded me what it is to feel passion, in all its forms. To have to deny that,” he paused to laugh ruefully, “it does not bring me joy, Benjamin. But helping you write this brilliant paper, that gives me more joy than I have felt in years, and we must do nothing to jeopardize that. Do you understand?”

Ben kissed his palm once more, longer and harder this time, knowing he would not be able to do it again. In the midst of the kiss, he shook his head. “I do, sir.” A literal weight seemed to have settled on his chest, pushing down on his stomach in a sickening way. “Merry Christmas.” Without the courage to see that handsome, exposed face again and maintain his resolve, Ben left the office without a backward glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading week is not something we had at my college, but some schools, including Yale, have a week off between the end of classes and exams for students to study.
> 
> Donald Kagan is a Yale professor an author of several popular history books on Ancient Greece. When he was at Yale, my husband took his ancient Greek history lecture, and said it was arguably the best class he ever had.


	10. Chapter 10

Ben read over the requirements on the Harvard application for at least the third time. He had already sent his GRE general and subject scores, he had a writing sample ready, and what else was on here? He rubbed his eyes and reached for his coffee. Why he had thought spending the day filling out grad school applications while he waited for Anna to finish up so they could ride the train home together he could not now say. _Sleeping. Sleeping would have been a much better use of your time. But you’re in the library with shit spread out everywhere, so you might as well keep fucking going_.

He dug through the stacks and found simple things—blanks that needed filled in with name and address and that sort of mindless information. Maybe if he did this long enough, the coffee would either kick in, or Anna would get out of her last exam early and come find him before he just fell asleep at the table. Just as he pressed the tip of his black pen to the name box on the Princeton application, he saw they specifically requested blue ink, so he sighed and started digging through his bag on the chair beside him.

“Benjamin!” came an excited whisper to his right. Ben took his head out of his bag to be greeted by the smiling face of Gilbert Lafayette rushing toward him. “So lovely to see you!” he said, kissing Ben on both cheeks. Ben dropped his bag on the floor, so Gilbert could sit down.

“I thought everyone had left by now,” Ben said softly, although the library was nearly empty, finals over for most students and for everyone else soon. “But I’m glad to see you. I don’t know if he told you, but I owe Alex a night at the Anchor when we get back. Should be a good time.”

“He did tell me, the dear. I am very much looking forward to that evening. In the meantime, he is taking me to his family for the holiday. It is just his brother and friends who are like family to him, but I hope very much that they like me well enough.”

“Gilbert, anyone who doesn’t like you is the one with the problem.” They both chuckled, and Gilbert blushed. “Seriously, I don’t think I would trust someone who didn’t like you.”

“You are too kind. Allow me to return the favor.” He leaned closer and Ben tilted his head toward Gilbert, who whispered, “I just finished helping Professor Rader calculate grades. You have received an A in French.”

He’d expected this outcome, but the news made Ben warm and more awake than he’d been at any other point that day. “I think my section TA deserves a great deal of the credit.”

“Pshaw! You are a natural.” Gilbert seemed to notice the mess on the table for the first time now, and he laughed again, if at a library-appropriate volume. “Ah, applications. A cruel fate to deal seniors desperate to merely get through their final year. Where shall you apply?” But rather than wait for Ben to answer, he began rifling through the stacks, nodding as he did so. “Any of these schools would be lucky to have you.” He looked back at Ben and winked. “Good luck, _mon ami_. I must go now. _Joyeux Noël_.”

“Merry Christmas.” Ben cold not repress his grin as he watched Gilbert leave, the joy he always spread wherever he went always infectious.

And the joy and warmth remained with Ben for the next hour as he checked boxes, made notes about revisions he wanted to make to writing samples, and organized everything into piles sprinkled with post-it notes Alex had inspired him to start using. He even went crazy and pulled out a red pen so that he would have three different inks to help him color coordinate what he was doing with each application.

He was in the middle of organizing his application for Johns Hopkins when someone slid into the chair he had made available for Gilbert. Ben was looking for a paperclip so he was certain the application would not get mixed in with anything else when he turned to see who it was. When he saw Peggy Shippen sitting there, he dropped the pile of papers. She was dressed like your average, stressed out student during exams—baggy Yale sweatshirt, jeans, no makeup, hair in a hasty ponytail. She still managed to look stunning. Perhaps it was because she’d taken the semester off and wasn’t actually in the midst of exams.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Going? That’s really what you want to know?”

“What else should I want to know?”

“Oh, I don’t know? Perhaps what I’m doing here.”

Ben checked around the room, which had grown even more bare since Gilbert had visited. There was no one within sixty feet of them, so he didn’t have to try too hard to be both quiet and discreet. “Okay. Why are you, a bright academic living in New Haven and still a Yale student, in the Sterling Library? Because I, for one, am shocked at this development.”

“Very funny, Ben,” Peggy said in mock bored tones. “I’m here to talk to you about this.” She picked up a stack of his applications at random from in front of her, waved them under his nose briefly, and then chucked them into the middle of the table. _At least the paperclips seem to have all stayed on_.

“You want to help with my grad school applications. That’s very kind.”

“I can help you great deal,” she said, sliding to the edge of her chair so that she might be closer to him and squeeze his thigh. “Would you like me to explain how?”

As good as her hand felt trailing up and down his leg, everything inside him screamed a warning. She hadn’t been the same since Arnold left, and he genuinely felt awful about her mental health problems, but he didn’t see how it would be beneficial to either of them to become entangled at this point. “Actually, I think I’ve got it. Thanks.”

Her touch became more insistent, her hand sliding to the inside of his thigh. “There’s only one school you need apply to.”

Ben squinted at her, this seeming too good to be true. Not even the best students only applied to one school, the vagaries of admissions too much to chance. “That seems like a bad idea. I think I’ll play the odds and apply to all of these.”

“So, you want to talk about the odds of getting into a specific school. What if I could guarantee you admission?”

“You can’t possibly promise that.”

“Oh, but I can.” She moved so far forward on her chair, he wondered if she could still be considered to be sitting on it. But her knees had slipped to either side of his, and when she leaned toward him, her breasts brushed his arm. When she whispered in his ear, he could feel her breath on his cheek. “Apply only to Columbia, and I can promise you that you will be accepted.”

Columbia. Yes, Peggy always had nice things to say about her alma mater, but she had to realize that it was now home to the traitor who had stolen his work. Back in August, she had claimed to have no contact with Arnold, but was that not true? “There is no way I’m going to Columbia,” he said. “That’s no offense to you, but there’s no way I could possibly work with Arnold again. He stole my research.”

“He did,” she said with a smile as her hand crawled dangerously close to his dick, which might not be hard yet, but could get there pretty quickly if she kept this up. “But I can also promise you something else—if you agree to go to Columbia, his own work on _Cato_ will never see the light of day.”

“What? How can you possibly promise that? It’s not up to you what gets published in peer reviewed journals.”

“Perhaps not. But he will be stopped from ever submitting an article if you simply apply to Columbia and no other grad school.”

“Who is going to stop him?”

“The same man who will blackball you at all of these schools you are taking such effort to apply to. The choice is really quite simple—write your _Cato_ thesis now and go to Columbia, or be humiliated when you turn in your thesis copied from a reputable professor and fail to get accepted at any other grad school in America.” Her hand stopped at his groin, a mere twitch of her fingers would have reached him, but nothing she could do with her hand had any chance of exciting him now.

“You can’t do that. Whoever this person is, can’t do that. I’ve worked too hard, and I will call Arnold out for stealing my work. There are people who will support me.”

“Who?” she giggled. “ _Washington_? Do be serious. One random theater professor can’t protect you from all English Lit academia. Think about it, Ben, and come see me when you get back from break. I’m crashing with Freddy, so I know you know the way.” She spoke so closely to his ear, her lips brushed against it. “We can spend all night discussing the right decision for your future.”

He wasn’t sure if the “we” she referred to would just be the two of them or the two of them and Freddy. Not that it mattered. He would not be manipulated like this. Without looking at her, he started shoveling everything into his bag. “Have a good Christmas, Peggy.”

“You, too, Ben.” She kissed his cheek and slipped away.

***

Unable to wait for Anna to finish her exam, Ben told a friend of theirs working at the circ desk to let Anna know he’d gone to see Washington and he would meet up with her back in his suite. The Theater building echoed with emptiness as he raced up the steps, even Alex’s nearly always inviting office closed. A panic that George might already be gone seized him, and he jogged down the hall. At first he thought the door was closed, but then he realized it, in point of fact, stood slightly ajar. He used his knocking fist to push it open. The desk lamp was on, but George was not inside.

_He can’t be far. He wouldn’t leave his office open. Maybe he’s giving an exam or went to the bathroom or something. But God, where is he?_

Ben looked up and down the hallway, hoping that might somehow cause George to magically appear, but of course, that had no effect on the situation. Refusing to simply stand there and wait, he headed for the Department office to see if the secretary might be there and know something. And yet, when he walked through the door, the desk at the front sat empty. Frantically, he searched the office, and there stood George—making copies.

“Benjamin,” George said with a quizzical turn of his lips. “I would have thought you had already headed home for break. Is everything well with you?”

“I’m leaving this afternoon, but sir, I have to talk to you. I…we need to go to your office.”

George pushed a few buttons on the copier and scooped up his pile of papers. Keeping his traditional calm while Ben continued to lose his shit, George smiled as he reached Ben. “Then let us go. I’ve no love of photocopying, and I am rather annoyed with myself for forgetting to have Alex take care of it before he left.”

Ben managed a bit of a smile, remembering his chat with Gilbert. “He’s taking Gilbert to meet his family. He’s probably excited to have gotten out of here.”

“Is he really? That’s quite nice. He doesn’t say much, but I get the feeling his brother and foster family mean a great deal to him.”

Ben nodded and swallowed, but he couldn’t take this small talk any longer, Peggy’s threats seeming both so impossible and so real simultaneously. _What if George can’t do anything? What if she’s telling the truth? Which would I rather have?_ Cato _and Columbia or humiliation and no future because I tried to fight her? This can’t be happening._

The hallway had never seemed so long before, but George eventually steered Ben into his office and closed the door. Unable to think for himself, George took Ben’s bag and set it on the floor, but free of that burden, Ben didn’t want to sit down, he wanted to pace, but there was no room to pace, so that he turned and took a single step before turning back, feeling as though he might be about to come out of his skin.

“Benjamin, what is wrong? You are not yourself.”

Ben twitched and shifted his weight, not only searching for how to explain everything they had been working on might have been for naught, but wondering how he could do so without mentioning anything about sleeping with Peggy. _What a clusterfuck._

“Benjamin,” George said, resting a hand on his shoulder, which shocked Ben into stillness. “Please, tell me what has happened.

“Can someone really ruin my entire future?”

“What? Benjamin, sit and tell me everything from the beginning.”

Ben relented to the pressure George exerted on his shoulder and let himself be pushed into his usual chair. After taking a deep breath and shrugging out of his coat (George always kept his office warm), he told George about his encounter with Peggy in the library, sans her flirtation tactic. But as he reached the end, he suddenly knew he had not started at the beginning. “Oh my God. She’s been trying to convince me to go to Columbia since last Christmas. She was harassing me about it at the English Department faculty Christmas party. Do you think this has anything to do with Dr. Arnold moving there?”

George perched on the corner of his desk, a comforting hand still on Ben’s shoulder. At this question, he squinted in thought, before looking down seriously into Ben’s eyes. “The English Department chair at Columbia, John Andre, has been trying to attract 18th Century specialists for years.”

“He was Peggy’s advisor. I think they were close.”

George raised an eyebrow. “As close as she and Dr. Arnold were reputed to be?”

Until this very moment, Ben had never given any thought to Peggy’s exact relationship with her undergrad advisor. He supposed she might have slept with Andre—he really had no way of knowing—but if she had, clearly their relationship had ended, since she’d hooked up with Ben and then started sleeping with Arnold. Right? “I don’t know. But do you think he could really ruin my entire future?”

“He’s an intelligent man, and by luring Dr. Arnold away in the manner he did, he has exhibited a willingness to behave unethically to get what he wants. The question is does his desire to fill out his faculty dominate him to the point he would undermine a promising young scholar. I do not know him well enough to answer, but I can promise you this much, Benjamin—I will do everything in my power to protect you. We shall begin by making copies of all your work as it stands now and sending it certified mail to my friend, Dr. Sackett at the Library of Congress.”

The beginning of this speech had made Ben more tense than ever, but as George’s soothing voice and logic continued, his stress slowly leaked away, until when George reached the end, Ben could sigh and slump forward in his chair. “After what happened with Dr. Arnold, I already have backups of all of my discs and photocopies of all my notes.”

“Very good,” George said, sliding from his desk and into his chair. “I will get you Dr. Sackett’s address and then send him an e-mail explaining the situation. Will you be able to get to the post office soon, or would you prefer to drop everything back here before you leave for home? I won’t mind posting it at all.”

“I can do it. Over Christmas break, I pretty much end up at the post office every day doing something for my mom.”

George nodded and smiled a touch while he flipped through a thick journal he used as an address book. “Very good.” He picked up his fountain pen and ripped a sheet from a small pad of paper at the corner of his desk. Once he finished writing the address, he turned and handed it to Ben. “Try not to allow this to trouble you over break. Enjoy your Christmas and know that I will get you through whatever might await you. And remember—you also have _Cato_ in Stamford to look forward to when you return.”

“That’s a good point,” Ben said, folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket. He smiled at George. “Thank you for everything.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas, Benjamin.”

***

The train ride home was as good as it could have been. It was long and uncomfortable, but he was with Anna, which meant he wasn’t alone, but he also didn’t have to talk. Well, at least from New Haven to New York. Once they switched trains in the city, she apparently decided they needed to have a heart-to-heart he would just as soon have avoided forever.

“Last night, you were fine when you brought me pizza,” she said. “Now, you’re some sort of silent, anxious mess. What the hell happened in between?”

He gave Anna the abbreviated version of what happened with Peggy at the library, and he would have told it sans Peggy’s flirtation if Anna hadn’t pressed. He tried to stop there, but Anna’s stare made him squirm, and he realized he would have to include his trip to George’s office without her even bothering to speak the request. When he finished, she nodded, her scowl making it obvious that she had plenty to say on the subject. He sat back and waited.

“Does Washington know you’re in love with him?”

Ben started, looked away from her, and then stammered out, “I…I’m…why would you say that?” But then he sat up and scowled right back at her. “And really? I tell you my entire academic future might be in jeopardy because of some Bond villain department chair, and _that’s_ your reaction?”

Anna shrugged. “I have no doubt that Washington will take care of all of that. But I am interested in how much you’ve had yourself tied in knots all semester because you are clearly in love with him. So, I ask you again, does he know?”

Ben couldn’t look at her as he whispered, “Yes.”

“And what did he say about that?”

“That he’s my advisor and it would be inappropriate, which is absolutely true.”

“But is he in love with you as well?”

Ben blanched, unsure how to answer. Yes, George had kissed him, called him beautiful, unquestionably had feelings for Ben, but love? Ben could not speak for George on this. “I don’t know. He…there’s something,” he whispered, and glanced around to make sure no one could possibly overhear them as he lowered his voice even more. “But love? I don’t know.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No! God, no. He said we can’t touch each other. Which is the right thing for him to say. He’s my advisor. I’m an undergrad. He can’t have a relationship with me.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “So, you do want to have a relationship with him?”

Ben sighed and flopped back in his seat with his eyes closed. “I want to lay next to him on a couch in front of a fire and slowly strip him naked with my teeth and then let him fuck my brains out until we fall asleep together, and then do the exact same thing the night after that for at least ten thousand nights. Is that a relationship?”

“Fuck Ben, you have got it bad.”

“You think?”

Anna took his hand and squeezed. “Someday, you’ll find an answer. You don’t have feelings like that without figuring something out.”

Ben squeezed her hand in return. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't do a senior thesis, per se, but I did do a year-long independent study. Ben's French prof--Dr. Rader--is a nod to one of my advisors on that project.


	11. Chapter 11

This wasn’t where Abe and Caleb usually took Ben when he visited them in New York, but he supposed he liked this new bar, Rivington’s, well enough. But, of course, they had an ulterior motive for bringing him here tonight, and that reason stood behind the bar washing glasses. Even though Ben had told them over Thanksgiving not to start any schemes to recover the stuff Arnold had stolen from him, they had ignored him and approached Robert Townsend, one of the bartenders here at Rivington’s who had the ill-luck of living down the hall from Caleb and Abe. What shocked Ben, because his friends’ complete disregard for what he wanted in this matter surprised him not a bit, was that Townsend, who looked completely normal, had said he would consider helping if he could meet Ben first.

After finishing cleaning glassware, Townsend poured something into three tumblers and pushed through Ben and Caleb’s cigarette smoke to bring them to their table on a tray. It was a Monday night at the beginning of January at a bar near a college campus, so it was slow enough Townsend had time to sit down after he distributed the drinks. “So, you’re Ben,” he said looking at Ben more out of the corner of his eye than facing him.

“Yeah.” Ben took a sip of his drink. It was sticky and tasted like berries. He’d never had anything quite like it, but it tasted awfully good. More so than at any other time on this insane trip, he was disappointed Anna had decided not to come into the city with them, because he was positive she would love this. “What is this? It’s excellent.”

“French raspberry brandy. So, you want to steal something from Dr. Arnold?”

Ben couldn’t decide if he was offended by Townsend’s down-to-business attitude or if his pragmatism was laudable, and frankly, a needed change from the insanity of Caleb and Abe. He took another sip of the brandy and decided Townsend was okay.

“That’s exactly what we want,” Abe jumped in. “Except, it’s not really stealing, because it’s Ben’s property. He just wants it back.”

“You would be doing a virtuous thing,” Caleb assured Townsend with a slap on the back.

“I would possibly be aiding and abetting a felony,” Townsend whispered. “But, he’s a shitty tipper and he grabbed a waitress’s ass last week, so I’m open to anything that might be to his detriment. Also, the grad students who TA for him all have horror stories about the inappropriate uses he puts them to, from fetching his dry cleaning to drafting articles he then submits under his own name. Speaking of which, I have asked one of them to join us tonight, and he just walked through the door.”

Ben’s breath caught, this an absolute surprise, since he hadn’t expected anyone but Townsend to be brought into this already ludicrous scheme. But what could he do other than join Abe and Caleb in turning in the direction Townsend was looking. A lanky African-American boy who looked like he was about 12 wearing a polo shirt and khakis was heading toward their table, and Ben wondered if this guy would really prove to be his savior. Back in November he had made his peace with his missing research, but after his conversation with Peggy just before Christmas break, he realized that retrieving what Arnold had taken might be the only way he could save his academic career.

“Cicero,” Townsend said with a nod at the new arrival. “Why don’t you take my chair while I pour you a drink?”

“Are you serving up the raspberry brandy tonight?” Cicero asked with a smile. When Townsend nodded, Cicero’s smile broadened considerably. “I will be very happy to have one, then.”

As Townsend walked back to the bar, Cicero smiled at them all in turn, completely at his ease and seemingly happy to be here taking part in this bizarre conspiracy. “Robert says you all need some help,” Cicero said as they sat there just staring at him.

“You’re a TA in the Columbia English Department?” Abe asked.

“I am,” Cicero answered with a bit of a chuckle, as though this were a question he had heard often before. “I started college early, so yeah, I just turned 21, but I really am a grad student and a TA.”

“And you aren’t a fan of Arnold’s” Caleb asked, leaning across the table to scrutinize Cicero.

“He’s a jerk. He treats all the TAs like they’re his personal assistants and we don’t TA any classes but his. And then he asked my best friend in the department, Abigail, who's sort of the grad student mom to all of us, to do some extra research for him, like she was his grad assistant, but she’s nice and she wants to make a good impression, so she did. Then he asked her to outline an article for him. Then he asked her to write the introduction, and the conclusion, and the openings of each section. Of course, when he submitted it, he left her name off.” He looked around the table until his gaze finally settled on Ben. “You’re Ben?”

“Yeah.”

Cicero nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me that he stole your work. Tell me exactly what I’m looking for, and I’ll get you back as much as I can. So far, I’ve always come up with an excuse why I can’t run errands for him, but depending on the errand, he’ll give his office key to TAs so they can drop stuff off for him. Assuming what you want is in his office, I’ll get in there and get you what I can.”

Townsend returned with Cicero’s drink, and Ben paused while he pulled over a chair and joined them again.

“It’s not just that,” Ben said. “I think he’s getting read to publish something using my research, which will totally fuck my senior thesis. Also, and I can’t prove this, but I think Dr. Andre is trying to torpedo my chances at any grad school other than Columbia, and no offense, there’s no fucking way I’m coming here.”

Cicero waved away Ben’s objection. “It was a perfectly good school when I applied, but this semester has become a mess with Arnold. I wouldn’t recommend anyone come here right now. But seriously, if Andre has it in for you, I don’t know that I can do anything about that.”

Ben opened his mouth to ask a question that had been bothering him for weeks, that had haunted him through Christmas and ruined his New Years. He closed his mouth, resigned to keep this to himself, but then he realized he would hate himself if he didn’t ask. “Do you know Peggy Shippen?”

Cicero squinted and thought for a moment, but then shook his head. “Name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t put a face with it.”

“If you’d ever seen her, I promise you would remember her. Blonde, blue eyes, flawless skin, perfect face, thin, amazing figure. Basically, model fucking gorgeous. She’s probably,” Ben did some quick math “twenty-four or twenty-five now. She was an undergrad at Columbia three years ago and Andre was her advisor. At Yale, she was Arnold’s favorite TA, and the rumor was they were sleeping together.”

At this description, Cicero shook his head with assurance. “I would definitely remember someone who looked like that. But if she spent a lot of time with Andre and Arnold, I’m not surprised that I might have heard the name.”

“Do you know Andre well?” Ben asked, suddenly interested in the man who must be trying to ruin his life, because no one else made sense. (Unless Peggy was lying about it all, which frankly, made more sense than anything else. Still, he might never get another chance to ask, and he had to find out as much as he could.)

Cicero took a drink before he answered. “I had him for Shakespeare this semester. He’s a really good teacher. Like, he does everything you really want from a professor—he’s nice and understanding when stuff happens, and he explains things really well and pushes you to do better. But outside of class,” Cicero shrugged. “I never really see him otherwise. He didn’t teach any undergrad classes last semester, so he did need any TAs. But Abigail is his grad assistant. She speaks well of him, but you’ve got to be a real…asshole for Abigail to dislike you.”

Ben hadn’t been expecting a thumbs up review about his possible nemesis, so he just nodded and let it go for now. He figured he and Cicero could exchange e-mail addresses, and Ben could ask him more about Andre if something struck him later as important. He could only guess now how important Andre may become to his future, but he had absolutely no doubt of Arnold’s insidious importance to his life, and he needed to focus on his research and thwarting Arnold’s possible publication.

“So, here is what Cicero and I were thinking,” Townsend said, once more getting down to business in his soft but articulate voice. “Anything that happens will be a, shall we say, crime of opportunity.”

“Actually, the legal definition—” Abe began, but Townsend cut him off with a glare.

“I will watch for him here, but even if he brings your research to the bar, it might be extremely difficult for me to take it, given the chance of someone seeing me. It’s not as though I can elegantly paw through his bag. Cicero will look for the chance to get into Arnold’s office. Our ideal hope is that Cicero will have access to Arnold’s office at a time I can assure him Arnold is here.”

“As much as we sympathize,” Cicero said directly to Ben, “it wouldn’t do any good for us to get caught.”

“And given this scheme, we cannot say when, or even if, we will be able to recover any of your work,” said Townsend. “Given these facts, do you still wish for our help?”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Ben smiled bittersweetly at them. “I certainly don’t want either of you in trouble, legally or with your employer or school, in order to help me.”

“I’d get in trouble for you,” Caleb mumbled.

“Yeah,” seconded Abe.

And then Ben just laughed. The absurdity of his life and the situation washed over him, and he simply couldn’t contain himself. They were planning this like some Reagan era spy mission behind the Iron Curtain. It was ridiculous, and yet his entire future might very well hinge on a gawky grad student and a bartender committing petty larceny. _Is petty larceny, right? I could ask Abe, but bless him, he might answer_.

“I appreciate anything you’re willing to do for me,” Ben said. “Thank you.”

Townsend nodded, and the way his lips quirked, Ben thought he might be trying to smile. “Excellent. So, we need you to detail precisely what we are looking for. I will pour more drinks. And,” he looked at his watch, “my shift just ended. I shall join you entirely as soon as I get that last round.”

***

The next day while Caleb was at work on the _Intrepid_ , Abe and Ben slept late and hung around the apartment until the need for coffee and food drove them out into the frigid snow. Abe led them to a hole in the wall where Ben could order a giant plate of grease that went a long way to making him feel human after the obscene amount of brandy he drank last night. Abe started off a bit shakier, and actually had to go to the bathroom to throw up before their breakfasts came, but after that, he seemed to settle in a bit better.

“So, what now?” Abe asked when they stepped back outside and were blasted by a gust of wind blowing about the snow on the ground. “Nothing that requires walking too far, I think.”

“Is there somewhere nearby I could check my e-mail?” Ben asked, the idea having come to him while he chewed his bacon. He doubted anyone would have sent him anything terribly important over break, but he hadn’t checked it since he’d run to the public library back in Setauket on Saturday before they came into the city. And people who did e-mail him knew he checked regularly, so it felt weird to go too long. And tomorrow, he’d be busy packing and Thursday he’d spend most of the day on the train back to New Haven.

“Yeah. We aren’t far from the law library. I can log you on a computer there. I need to grab some books I should have gotten last week anyway.”

And so they walked a few blocks through slush, Ben cursing himself for just slipping into his sneakers instead of putting on his boots. By the time they reached the library, his feet were soaked and the headache he’d woken up with that had started to abate with breakfast had returned twofold. After spending an inordinate time in the company of the water fountain, Abe took him to a bank of computers that were half full, in spite of it still being Christmas break, but he supposed law school was different.

Abe logged onto a computer and jumped up from the skinny office chair. “There you go,” he whispered. “Should only take me about 15 minutes to grab what I need, and I’ll meet you back here.”

“Shouldn’t take me much longer,” Ben answered, assuming he would not have many e-mails and even fewer that would require a response today.

Settling in, Ben double clicked the Netscape icon and headed to the log in page for Yale remote e-mail. A moment later he was looking at 5 new e-mails, but only one that needed to be read now. He held his breath and willed his finger not to tremble as he clicked on the subject line: “Ticket upgrade.”

 

> Benjamin,
> 
> The most fortunate event occurred when I was at a New Year’s Eve party. I ran into a former student who is active in various regional theater companies throughout New England. While we were catching up, I mentioned our intention to see CATO in Stamford, and he informed me that another former student recently became the artistic director of the very theater in Stamford that is performing CATO. On the 2nd, I gave the theater a call, hoping to speak with this former student, but with the show about to open, he was busy and could not speak with me, although he returned my call yesterday. I told him that I would be coming to the show on the 10th, and he insisted on upgrading our tickets, and also offered to give us a tour backstage before the show if you are interested. I would like to let him know as soon as possible if we intend to accept his offer of the tour, so I thought I would reach out, not knowing when you intend to return to campus, but hoping you might check your e-mail while on break.
> 
> Hope you are enjoying your holiday,
> 
> George
> 
>  

Ben looked at the date stamp—it had only been sent yesterday. He thought quickly of what he had planned for Friday before the show and sleeping late had been pretty much the only thing on his schedule. But more important than this practical concern or any of the information contained in the e-mail, his breath fluttered at the signature. George. Of course, Ben thought of him as George, and he’d been invited to address him thus, but George had never signed an e-mail with his first name before. It felt…special. Ben wished the play were tomorrow. He clicked the Reply button.

 

> George,
> 
> A tour sounds great! I’ll be getting back Thursday, so we can leave anytime Friday that works for you and your friend at the theater. I’ll be sure to keep checking my e-mail and I’ll stop by your office when I get back, so we’re sure to get things coordinated. You can also leave me a voicemail on my campus phone, if that’s easier. Anyhow, my break has been very nice, and this will be a great way to finish it up.
> 
> Benjamin
> 
>  

“You okay, dude?”

Ben jumped and turned to find Abe standing behind him with a pile of books in his arms. “Yeah,” he answered. “Just checking my message for typos before I hit Send.” Ben sent the e-mail and quickly logged out of his account and closed Netscape.

“You know, I don’t get why people get worked up over typos in e-mails. You ready to go?”

Ben nodded. “Just don’t want to look like an idiot to my thesis advisor.”


	12. Chapter 12

Ben could not have asked for a better day. He and George had met for breakfast at Claire’s, the only vegetarian restaurant on the planet good enough to convince Ben to forego some sort of fried pork for breakfast. Armed with to-go cups of coffee, they had hit the road and made a leisurely drive to Stamford, Ben always enjoying the view of the Sound, even if he had grown up with it as a daily part of life. They had talked of their breaks (Ben leaving out his meeting at Rivington’s), the movies they had watched, books read.

Washington had read Ellis’s biography of Thomas Jefferson, _American Sphinx_. “He called Jefferson’s behavior duplicitous, which I think is a gross understatement, especially when he qualifies it that there was more a _sense_ of Jefferson’s duplicity than actual evidence.” Meanwhile, Ben had polished off _Primary Colors_ on the train ride back to New Haven, since Anna had given him her copy Christmas Eve and threatened never to speak to him again if he didn’t read it.

When they had arrived in Stamford, they had a little lunch and walked around town near the theater just to have an excuse to stretch their legs. Throughout, their conversation flowed naturally, no awkwardness, and Ben felt warm in spite of the cold and the snow they shuffled through. Any hint of feelings deeper than friendship never surfaced, and Ben fought to keep his desire for George carefully hidden, not wishing to spoil the day.

The theater tour was a hoot. Ben loved reading plays and he went to the theater on occasion, but he’d never acted or been on a stage crew, so what happened behind the scenes was almost all entirely new to him. They climbed up into the flies and poked around the prop room, saw costumes carefully hanging in neat rows, and Brett (Washington’s former student and the theater’s artistic director) showed Ben how the wagons worked so that they could drag one set off stage and pull the next on.

They had just enough time to run to a restaurant around the corner after the tour and before the show started so their stomachs didn’t rumble through the entire performance. They had split a bottle of wine George had picked, a Virginia red he had a fondness for, and Ben entered the theater warm and happy, bubbling with excitement at finally seeing his favorite play performed, a joy he thought he would never experience. Settled in, sixth row center, the heat of George’s arm on the armrest between them as intoxicating as the wine, Ben was ready to be wowed.

But it turned out the production of _Cato_ was pretty middling, which Ben should have adjusted his expectations for. Granted, the production had some pleasant surprises—the costumes were gorgeous and detailed to an exceptional level, and the actor who played Juba nailed pretty much every line—but there had also been some real atrocities. The lighting had been disturbingly reminiscent of a disco and the actress who played Lucia, mistress to one of Cato’s sons while being coveted by the other, had threatened to chew all the velour stage dressings.

Still, Ben had seen _Cato_ on stage! And he had done it with George’s right leg mere inches from his left, their elbows occasionally brushing on the armrest. All in all, Ben thought there would be few days in his life he would recall with as much fondness.

But gently falling snow greeted them when they came out of the theater, which had apparently been falling all night. And just outside of Stamford, the snow began coming down so thickly, Ben couldn’t see the taillights of the car in front of them, and George had slowed to a crawl. Ben didn’t want to say anything, but when they saw the Norwalk exit, he was glad George took the opportunity.

“I am not sure I like our chances of getting back to New Haven tonight. I’m getting off here. Surely there is a hotel. I will of course take care of the bill, so do not worry if you didn’t bring money.”

“I think this is a really good idea,” Ben said, as the car fishtailed at the exit, even though George was only going about fifteen. “I didn’t want to say anything, figuring you’re the one driving, but yeah, this snow sucks.”

“Well put.” They crept down the off ramp and at the bottom there was a sign pointing toward an EconoLodge. “Not exactly the sort of accommodations I normally seek out, but any port in a storm, quite literally tonight.”

“Hey, it’s fine by me. And something I can totally afford on my own.” They both tried to chuckle, but the mood remained tense until George found the driveway for the promised EconoLodge and they pulled safely into the only parking spot they could find around the back of the motel.

Letting out a deep breath, George turned off the car. “I do not wish to sound pessimistic, but I can’t help noticing how full the parking lot is.”

“I have faith there’s room at the inn,” Ben said with a half-hearted smile.

“I do not mean to question the pastor’s son, but isn’t the entire basis of the Christian faith built around the fact there _was_ _no_ room at the inn?”

They both laughed in earnest at this. “Well, let’s go find out,” Ben said.  

It turned out there was room at the inn. One, to be precise.

“Two double beds?” George asked, credit card out, ready to book their salvation from the whiteout swirling across I-95.

“Actually, only one double,” answered the clerk, a gum-chewing girl who had been reading an anatomy textbook when they walked in.

The hand George held his credit card in twitched. Ben held his breath. “Well,” George said in his usual velvety voice, “I guess it will have to do, then.”

The clerk ran the card through a carbon copy machine behind the desk and then passed them toiletries in plastic bags—toothbrushes, toothpaste, razors, shampoo, and the rest. “Breakfast is 6-9, check out 11.” She handed George a keycard. “Do you need a wakeup call?”

“No, thank you,” said George, who Ben thought seemed the type of person to wake up early like clockwork on any occasion. Ben scooped up the toiletries, wanting to be useful and needing a distraction from the fact he was about to share a bed with George, a prospect that did not seem to make George happy in the least.

Back outside, they were blasted in the face with snow that still showed no signs of abating. The gusts were so bad, in fact, that snow had blown into the stairwell, and Ben had to go slowly, unable to clutch the handrail. George was clearly frustrated at the pace, but just as clearly knew he had no right to say anything about it. Instead, as they circled up to the second floor where their room was located, George said, “I’m sure there is a chair. I won’t mind sleeping in it.”

“That’s not necessary,” Ben said, trying to tell himself his concern for George was merely about his comfort and not the potential loss of lying in the same bed with the man he…loved?

“Surely, you understand that—”

“I can sleep in the chair,” Ben said, planting his foot at the second floor landing a little too hard, and slipping. George instinctively shot out a hand and steadied Ben with a strong grip on his elbow. His balance restored, Ben mumbled, “Thank you,” but used the incident as an excuse to stare at the ground, following George’s feet leading the way. Well, Ben’s gaze may have journeyed up. _He looks so good tonight. Well, he’s looked good all day. These dark blue pants are new, because I’d remember anything that showed off his thighs and ass this well. And he smells really good. Must be a new cologne. Some sort of, I don’t fucking know, spicy, woody…something that smells really nice. I wonder if he got it for Christmas? Fuck. Who’s buying George cologne for Christmas? Fuck_.

“Here we are,” George said, stopping before a door and swiping the keycard in the door lock. It took him a couple tries, as these damned locks always did, especially with cold fingers, but in a moment, they were in the room. George flipped on a light as Ben spilled the toiletries on the narrow table just to the right of the door. As soon as he straightened up and took a look around, Ben noticed George frowning, and in the tiny space, it didn’t take long to figure out the cause. There was no chair other than a low, straight-backed chair pushed into a pitiful desk. There wasn’t even really enough space on the floor for a person to stretch out properly. They were, in fact, in the smallest, most basic motel room Ben had ever witnessed.

“I could ask at the desk if there is a cot we could use,” George suggested.

“Where would we put it?” Ben asked, closing and locking the door. He took off his coat and shook the snow off before draping it over the back of the single chair.

“I can make a bed on the floor.”

“Again, where? There’s no space, and it doesn’t look like there’s enough bedding to split.” To prove his point, Ben took a couple steps over to the bed and turned down the thin comforter, thinner blanket, and stiff, white sheet. Ben looked George in the eye, held his gaze, even though he could feel that George wanted to turn away. “We can share a bed. It’s not a problem.”

“Benjamin,” George whispered.

“George,” Ben pronounced boldly. “I’m going to brush my teeth. We should get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Unable to say more without addressing the real issue that hung in the air between them, George said nothing, sitting down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. Ben left him there, and after kicking off his own shoes without bothering to untie them, he carried the toiletries to the sink at the back of the room next to the bathroom. He removed one toothbrush from its plastic and pulled the small tube of toothpaste out of its cardboard box. Trying not to think too much about where exactly George was and refusing to spy in the mirror, Ben brushed his teeth with relish. It wasn’t until he heard George approaching that he spat and then rinsed his mouth with a handful of water.

Their eyes met in the mirror when Ben stood back up. George had stripped to boxers and an undershirt, a wife beater to be exact, and Ben mentally ordered his dick to stop getting hard at the sight. It was only at this moment that Ben thought about what he would wear to bed. He didn’t wear undershirts, and when he’d put on particularly short boxers this morning, all he’d thought about was that they’d lay nicer under his dress pants than any of his other pairs. But he couldn’t sleep in his dress shirt, with its stiff collar and annoying buttons. There was just nothing for it. George had put his clothes on the table by the door Ben had originally used for toiletries, so Ben began to strip, half-heartedly folding his clothes to rest atop the desk with the chair.

The water ran in the sink, and Ben assumed George was finishing up, just as Ben dropped his pants on the desk. He peeked over his shoulder and saw George still standing at the sink looking at him. George’s lips were parted, and either he did not care to hide the way his eyes searched Ben’s body or he simply could not help himself. Ben longed to be bold, but he held back. He had no idea why, but he fucking held back, no matter how much he wanted to invite George to touch with his hands everything he now stroked with his eyes.

Something within George transitioned, and he looked away and made his way to the other side of the bed by the door. He slid under the blankets without another word, his back to Ben. There was a wall sconce on Ben’s side, so after turning it on, he went to the door to flip off the overhead light. He flicked the switch and turned back around to catch George watching him again with hunger. Ben was getting hard, and in these boxers, George must know it _. Good. I want him to know. I want him to know what he does to me when he looks at me like that. I swear, I’m going to start stripping in his office so he’ll look at me like this again_.

Ben glanced at George’s still back once more before he turned off the light and joined him in bed.

Unlike George, Ben didn’t want to sleep face out, so instead he turned on his left side, acutely aware that if he scooted just a foot closer, he would be spooning George. Pushing his erection in the cleft of George’s ass. Reaching around to stroke George’s cock until he was screaming Ben’s name. _Not helping. Maybe lay on your stomach_. But that worked as well as it always did, which was not at all, and in addition to his other problems, Ben had to fight the urge to hump the mattress.   _This is not going to work. Maybe I should take a shower. And by “take a shower,” I mean masturbate furiously in the other room_. Ben flopped onto his back to relieve the pressure, but when he looked down his body, all he could see was the obscene way the blankets tented at his crotch. _This is fucking hopeless_.

And it did not help that his boxers were literally rubbing him the wrong way. Well, in any other circumstance, it would have been the right way, but the flap of the fly insisted on pressing against the head of his dick. He reached down to shift it, but that just dragged fabric across him, and his dick twitched. And the damned seam was pressing against his balls, so he reached around to try and pull his boxers away from them, but again, all he accomplished was arousing himself all the fuck more with the soft cotton slipping around him. Finally, he just grabbed his cock and squeezed, his eye shut tight, wishing his erection would go the fuck away.

He honestly didn’t know when he started to lightly stroke himself, until his breath caught, and the sound shocked him, afraid George might have heard. He turned his head on the pillow to find that at some point in his own thrashings, George had rolled over to face him without Ben knowing. He watched Ben now with wide open eyes.

“I…I couldn’t help myself,” Ben said. “I’m sorry, but the way you looked at me….”

“The way you looked,” George paused, but then pressed on, “I couldn’t help myself, either.”

“Why are we doing this? Why this ridiculous rule that we can’t touch each other, when we so clearly have feelings for each other.”

“You know why, Benjamin.”

“But how is fucking me going to affect the grade you give me, when we both know you won’t let anything influence your decision? And if anything did, it wouldn’t be the physical act. It would be your feelings for me, and those are there whether or not we touch.”

“Because you and I do not make the rules of academia. And with the possible threats to your future from Benedict and perhaps John Andre, we can’t be too careful.”

“So…what? We don’t touch each other until you turn in my grade and then we fuck like bunnies for a couple weeks until I graduate and then leave for grad school? How can you suggest that? I can tell you feel this, too. It’s not just me.”

“Is that what you long to hear from me, Benjamin?” George’s smooth voice was growing ragged and even more beautiful for it. Ben could lose himself in that voice. “Yes. I have feelings for you. I want you—I want to fuck you and hold you and spend snowy days by the fire with you and then feel your naked body under my hands night after night. I want so much more than to just have a fling in the brief period between when I stop being your advisor and when you leave Yale. But I don’t see how, and so it is best we do not touch. Because, I swear on all that is holy, once I start touching you, I do not know how I could possibly stop.”

Ben wanted nothing more than to crawl on top of George and grind him into the mattress. But he couldn’t. If George didn’t think he could stop, Ben knew he couldn’t, either. But he also couldn’t just lie here, aching.

Ben pushed the blankets off himself, and holding George’s stare, he lifted his hips and slipped his boxers off, tossed them on the floor.

George looked down and he sucked in a deep breath. “Benjamin, please.”

“It’s fine,” Ben said. “We can’t touch each other. But I can touch myself. And you can watch me do it. It’s what started this conversation, after all. Why not continue?”

“This is a terrible idea. Benjamin—”

But Ben ignored George and started slowly stroking himself. It felt amazing after the denial and teases he had inadvertently inflicted upon himself. For a few moments, he just stayed on his back, slowly moving his hand up and down his throbbing cock. With a deep sigh, Ben turned his head once more, knowing this time George would be looking, but uncertain what to expect in George’s gaze.

George was fixated on Ben’s hand on his cock. Ragged breaths passed between his slightly parted, damp lips, and Ben thought he could see in a beam of moonlight cutting through the curtains that did not entirely close, George’s hand wandering toward his own erection. Ben hadn’t known until this moment how much he needed George to be doing this with him, that he had no desire to just put on a kinky show for George, but to share an emotional moment that transcended and lingered after the orgasm.

“Please, George. Do this with me. Please.”

George now met Ben’s eye, the suggestion seeming to startle him. “I can’t. I….”

“You said you can’t touch me. You wouldn’t be. But I need to know, George. I need to know what you look like when you touch yourself thinking about me.”

George closed his eyes and he waged a fight in his soul that Ben wished he could be privy to, that he wished he could solve. But he knew George had to go through this moment on his own. So, instead, Ben sucked on the index and middle fingers of his left hand, rolled over on his side, and reached behind himself. It was only when George’s eyes snapped open, determination never writ so firmly on any face as he shimmied out of his boxers, did Ben press a finger against his entrance. The sensation made him gasp and set George aflame. Half on his side, half on his back so he might get leverage with his right hand but still look at Ben, George took hold of himself and started to thrust up into his fist.

Together they pleasured themselves, Ben pushing inside himself, his gasps echoed by George, their strokes erratic until they gradually became one. Soon, they pulled and thrust in tandem, their gazes alternating between eyes and the hand on the cock they really wanted to be touching. Eventually, even their breathing synced, and they panted, moaned, called each other’s name in harmony. When one of them seemed closer to reaching climax than the other, that person slowed and the other worked faster. They both knew what they wanted, what they required from this stolen night they both knew would never be repeated in New Haven. And so with careful pacing and grace, they both reached the moment where all hesitation and teasing ended, and within the span of the same heartbeat, they came on the starchy sheet between them.

For many long seconds, maybe even a minute, they both just laid there, fighting to catch their breath. Ben’s eyes focused on nothing during this time, his body and his mind tingling and exhausted, but eventually he looked at the sheet between them. The moonbeam lit the space that separated them, and he could see that even if they could not touch each other, their spend had combined. With a tentative hand, Ben reached forward and traced his fingertips through what anyone else would think of as a mess, but that now had him mesmerized. He was so focused on where his own touch met the bed, that he failed to notice George’s hand creeping forward until it stopped an inch from Ben’s. They both hesitated until they could hold back no longer, and their fingertips brushed each other there on the bed, covered in a symbol of their love for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hubby tells me everyone, vegetarian and otherwise, ate at Claire's and loved it.
> 
> George’s former student, Brett, is named after a theater major I knew at college, who was a fantastic actor, amazing bass (we were in choir together), and all-around awesome guy who passed away far too soon after graduation. 
> 
> And there really is an EconoLodge on Norwalk exit.


	13. Chapter 13

A week after their night together in the EconoLodge in Norwalk, Ben found himself spending an exciting Friday night in, revising the section George wanted in the coming week, trying hard to ignore how heartbroken he felt. But the truth was, he was as inconsolable as when Nathan had left him, and as miserable as when George had first said they could not touch again. He tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong, his mind drifting back to the morning after their night at the EconoLodge. They had driven back to New Haven in near silence, but Ben had not found it uncomfortable, and had no suspicions at that point all was about to go horribly wrong between them. Apparently, George had felt differently.

When Ben arrived in his office the following Wednesday, smiling and excited about the new intimacy he was sure would mark their relationship, George was as stoic and proper as Ben had ever seen him. It wasn’t the constant simmering anger that had followed their argument leading up to turning in his bibliography, but an aloofness that denied any personal connection. There had been a moment discussing the section Ben had written over break when George had been so impossibly proper and formal asking about Cato’s speech at the opening of Act 3: “Fathers, we once again are met in council,” that Ben had wanted to scream.

But what could Ben do about it? He and George had gone around and around about their feelings, and the deal had been no touching, which Ben had more than taken advantage of at the motel. He just had to push on with his work. Which he was trying to do tonight when he could stop his mind from wandering back to the weekend before. Besides, he really needed to take of everyone in the suite, even Mark, being out for the night. He had set up camp on the floor of the common room, his back against the front of the couch, writing on the “coffee table” that was theoretically supposed to be one of the two doors into the suite. Faint noises of people having fun drifted in through the other door that remained on its hinges, which as always was propped open.

This is how Ben had plenty of warning that Abe and Caleb were headed up the stairwell.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Ben asked, jumping to his feet to give Abe a hug while Caleb looked for a place to put out his cigarette. Ben handed him a mostly empty glass of water, and Caleb dropped it inside with a hiss.

“We have a surprise for you, Tallboy,” Caleb said, embracing him. “Show him, Abe.”

Ben released Caleb and turned back around to see Abe digging something out of the bag he had slung over his shoulder. A moment later, Abe held up a black plastic case designed for holding computer discs. He wiggled it with a wide grin on his face. “Guess what’s in here?”

“Discs?” Ben answered with a shrug. “You came all the way from New York to bring me discs?”

Caleb leaned his chin on Ben’s shoulder and pointed at the plastic case in Abe’s hand. “Discs from Arnold’s office.”

Ben jumped and spun around to look at Caleb. “What? Are they mine? Really?”

Caleb grinned as broadly as ever through his bushy beard. “Cicero let us in this afternoon while he had the key and Arnold was out. We snatched them and drove straight here. Sorry to say, we didn’t see anything that looked like your binders or books, but we didn’t have time to look through the entire bookcase or all his files.”

Overjoyed and truly happy for the first time in ages, Ben said, “That’s fine. If these really are mine, this is amazing!” If one of these discs had even just the citation to his missing source, he would be thrilled. “Let’s go in my room and pop the discs in.”

Abe and Caleb followed Ben into his bedroom where he booted up his computer and Caleb grabbed everyone beers from the fridge. In all his life, Ben was positive that his computer had never started so slowly. Abe rested a hand on his shoulder and gave a good squeeze. Unable to simply sit there, Ben opened the black case, and inside he saw three discs. One had the label peeled off, but it was the brand of disc and label he always used. The two other discs didn’t appear as though they had ever had labels on them, and as far as his memory served, only one of the discs he had lent to Arnold for the summer was unlabeled, because Ben usually tried to be good about that sort of thing. But that was OK. Although the longer he had to wait for his computer, the more he worried this would be a dead end. His plastic case had been red, not black, but perhaps Arnold had transferred things around.

“It’s on,” Abe said, smacking Ben on the back just as Caleb put a beer in his hand. A little sloshed on the desk, but Ben just soaked it up quickly with his sleeve.

Ben popped the disc with the peeled label in first. A whir and a couple of clicks later, he had the disc open. The files were definitely articles on theater, but as he scanned them, he realized they were just articles he had read but nothing he needed, and more importantly, nothing he personally compiled. He clicked one open to be sure, and it was exactly as advertised, some blowhard Ben knew Arnold was friends with blathering on about 18th Century stage practices.

“One of yours?” Caleb asked.

Ben shook his head and close the window. “One of Arnold’s, I suppose.” He popped the disc out and said a little prayer as he replaced it with one of the never labeled discs. This one didn’t even have Ben holding his breath in anticipation, it was so obviously not what he was looking for. It appeared to be nothing but old syllabi and meeting minutes from faculty committee meetings.

Ben removed this disc, and stared at the final disc before he slipped it into the drive, pinning all his hopes on this one, final disc. He had built up his hopes so much when Caleb and Abe arrived, even though he never should have, but somehow it had taken him a fraction of a second to convince himself the missing source would be found on one of these discs. He put the disc in and opened it up.

“What is this shit?” Caleb asked.

Ben stare confused at the file names for several long seconds before double clicking one open. It was poetry. _Dear God, it’s Arnold’s poetry. And it’s fucking awful. I hope he burns in hell._

“Well, fuck,” said Abe. “That _definitely_ isn’t any of your work.”

Ben sighed and took a very large drink of his beer. “No, it is not.” His head dropped to his chest, and Caleb mussed his hair. It was a ridiculous gesture, but Ben knew it came form a good place, and he appreciated it.

“I’m so damned sorry, Benny,” Caleb said. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Well, since you’re already here, let’s go get obscenely drunk,” Ben suggested.

***

Ben looked over the pages he had left with George the previous week while George marked up the new pages Ben had brought with him. Typically, they went through George’s comments together, but in a complete change of protocol, George had asked if they might take these timesaving measures this week since he had his own deadline with the Norton people about the Sheridan. Ben didn’t mind, and in fact, rather enjoyed this opportunity to read the comments, written in a fluid hand with red pen on the section he’d turned in last Wednesday. Ben liked George’s handwriting, a stupid thing to make a big deal out of, surely, and yet a quickly dashed “awk” in the margin to indicate George found the sentence awkward made Ben’s lips twitch a bit into a smile.

And overall there were very few awkwards or other corrections to the writing, and one or two very helpful suggestions for citations he could add. There was even one bit of praise—“astute reading of Sempronius’s motivations.” Ben almost broke out into a genuine grin at the words, and glanced up at George, somehow thinking George’s demeanor would match the words Ben had just read. But George’s expression was neutral and focused as his pen skittered in the margin on the new section, making new notes. Ben dropped his gaze.

_He’s still not happy with you. One lousy compliment is nothing in a sea of red ink. And it looks like he’s completely trashing the latest section covering Act 3. You should really be used to his cold shoulder by now._

“This claim is unsupported,” George muttered as he circled a passage and jotted a note along the edge of the paper. Ben tried to see what claim, but he couldn’t see well from his position at the side of desk, the days of pulling the chair around next to George long over. “But the rest is not bad for a first draft.”

Ben sighed with relief. He had turned in his first paper for Dr. Kagan’s Ancient Greek History class yesterday, and he had gotten a bit caught up in the excitement of his research and not devoted the time he ought to have to this particular section. “Thank you, sir. It’s rougher than I would have liked, but I thought it better to have more words of a rough draft than less words that were polished.”

“You are absolutely correct.” George sat back in his seat and held the papers out to Ben. “It really is an excellent start. I just hope you can finish as you have begun.”

And there it was—the new normal from George. Every compliment was tempered with a foreboding of disappointment or some caveat about how it wasn’t quite up to snuff. Ben bit his tongue and tried to look diligent, not that he knew how one projected diligence. Apparently, he had yet to get it right. “That is surely my intention. I have every confidence that I will be ready to write the final revision over spring break.”

“I should certainly hope so.” He flicked the papers still dangling from his fingers, and Ben finally took them.

“And I wish you luck with the Sheridan,” Ben ventured, wondering if perhaps a spirit of comradery might loosen George up enough to resemble a man more than a statue.

But Ben immediately saw his approach was in error, George’s countenance transforming into a glowering storm. “Yes, thank you. You may go now, Benjamin. Please try to have the next two sections for next week. If you get them to me Tuesday afternoon, I can mark them before our meeting.”

Twice as much as usual a day early. George really was in a shitty mood, but Ben just smiled, wondering how hard he really needed to study for French over the weekend. “Of course. I’ll be sure to get it in your mailbox.”

George frowned and grunted before turning toward his computer, Ben dismissed from the meeting. Ben wanted to reach out and rest his hand on George’s shoulder, ask him what was wrong, assure him he was loved, but he dare not. Still, just leaving, walking away again this week with this tension between them was intolerable. Before Ben could think the consequences through, he said, “George, I know that we, well, I know. But I can’t stand this distance you’ve put between us. And I don’t mean physically. You have a lot going on, and you might want to talk about it, and I want you to know that I care, and I want to be here for you.”

George glared at Ben out of the corner of his eye, but did not turn to face him. “I am your advisor. You are my student. I have friends, colleagues, to whom I can speak if I have problems. I do not rely on overeager undergraduates for emotional support.”

Ben felt as though he had been slapped, and frankly, felt the urge to slap back. “Yes. And I’m a young man who doesn’t need to rely on unwilling professors for my sexual satisfaction. Yet, here we are.”

“Here we are _not_. You will leave now, Benjamin.”

Ben shoved the pages George had returned into his bag along with his pens without bothering to zip it. “I just want to write this damned paper, and I think we would both enjoy it more if you could at least act like a human being instead of hunk of marble.” Without waiting for a response, Ben shouldered his bag and left without another word.

Feeling deflated and pissed off, Ben decided to poke his head in Alex’s office, knowing that if anyone could commiserate with him about George’s mood, this is where he would find him. As he had hoped, when Ben leaned on the doorframe, Alex sat bent over his desk, scribbling away on his yellow legal pad. Ben waited for a pause, not wanting to disturb what was clearly a burst of creativity, but Alex wrote so furiously without break, Ben began to wonder if he should just leave.

But before he could turn away, Alex added a period to the end of his sentence with gusto, dropping the pen and swiveling to face Ben. “Thank you for waiting. Sometimes you really have to get something down, and not everyone understands that fact.”

“Oh, I think I understand that better than most at the moment.” Ben thought back to the pandemonium in his suite the night before when his work suffered from constant interruptions from his highly inebriated suitemates and the folks they had invited over for their Un-Valentine’s Day viewing of _Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?_ Ben was pretty sure at least six people got laid, which good for them, but it was not especially conducive to writing about _Cato_. “Do you have a few minutes to piss and moan about Washington?”

“Always. Do we need refreshments?”

Ben shook his head, but he closed the door behind him anyway, so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Do you think he’ll be better after he hits his deadline this week?”

Alex, elbow propped on the edge of his desk, dropped his head wearily into his hand. “If he’s not, I swear to God, I’ll quit. He’s been impossible, not only in his demands, but in his assumption none of his students have lives, except in how they live to serve him.”

Now that he examined Alex closer, Ben saw the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and he’d never seen Alex’s hair such a mess. Ben realized he wasn’t the only person having a shit time, and it would be the decent thing to worry about someone else for thirty seconds. “Have you gotten any sleep lately?”

Alex shook his head. “I have so much going on with George and my classes and things that simply have to be written because they refuse to stay locked in my head,” he tapped his legal pad at this last, “that there’s no time for sleep. Or a life. Which Gilbert objects to.”

“I’m sure he understands.”

“I’m sure he does not.” Alex frowned, his gaze averted. “We fought. And then he packed up everything he had at my apartment, and we haven’t spoken in five days.”

“Damn. I’m really sorry.”

Alex inhaled deeply and slouched back in his chair. “Thank you. But I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself, so I suppose I should actually thank Washington for this nonsense.”

“If there’s anything I can do,” Ben said, feeling utterly fucking useless, but what did you say at a time like this. _God, what am I going to say when I see Gilbert in section tomorrow? Play dumb? Be nice? Maybe I’ll skip and work on my thesis_.

“Thanks, but really, don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

***

Back in his room, Ben just lay on his bed not studying, not sleeping, not doing anything useful. He just lay there feeling tired and numb and so fucking done with it all. He thought about heading to the shower where he could jerk off or cry or both, but he didn’t have the energy to get off the bed. How had he even fallen in love with George? It was ridiculous when he stopped and tried to think how it had even happened.

The fact was, Ben wasn’t stupid, and he understood George’s professional/ethical dilemma. Hell, he respected George for his stance, and yet, that made no difference to his heart. Somehow, Ben had decided that he loved George. Maybe if George had remained aloof from him and never shown any signs of returning his feelings, Ben would have been safe. After all, students having a crush on their teachers was hardly a new phenomenon.

But George hadn’t always maintained his icy distance, and Ben knew his true feelings. And what was Ben expected to do with that knowledge? Who in the history of man has ever willingly stayed away from their beloved when they know their feelings are returned? (Well, poetry and classic romances and epics were full of that kind of bullshit, but who in the _real_ world?) George loved Ben just as much, and Ben knew this current state of affairs was a false front George presented to keep himself emotionally separate, and Ben couldn’t fucking stand it.

And, of course, his memory drifted back over and over again to their snowy night on the way back from _Cato_. He could see George’s face in the diffuse light that slipped through the cracks in the curtain as he climaxed. And more than that, Ben knew that glorious look of ecstasy was caused by George’s feelings for him.

Ben had no outlet for his feelings, and yet he desperately needed George as lover and professor, although he knew there was no solution to this mutual exclusivity. Clenching his teeth together, he rolled over onto his stomach, eyes closed, and growled his anger into his pillow. And then he began grinding his swollen cock into his mattress, an erection never far away when he was thinking of George, no matter how frustrating Ben found him. And he growled and he grinded until his growls turned to moans of pleasure and he found release.


	14. Chapter 14

Ben’s suitemates had been celebrating Un-Valentine’s Day all week, but here on the actual date, a Friday night no less, they had no party going in their suite to distract Ben from his exhaustion and misery. And fuck it all, he absolutely needed a night off from his thesis. He had skipped French section on Thursday so he wouldn’t have to face Gilbert, so he had already worked on his paper more than usual this week and he was just burnt the fuck out.

So when Anna asked if he wanted to hit the Anchor, Ben didn’t hesitate. He hadn’t, however, expected her to promptly ditch him when they arrived and she saw that Selah was there. Ben supposed he ought to be happy for her, and he genuinely was, but he really could have done with some distracting conversation and tequila shots until he fell off his chair. But it could be worse. At least he was out of his room, not staring at those same walls with no opportunity to listen to Ella Fitzgerald singing Rodgers and Hart. (He’d checked the jukebox here months ago—they didn’t have anything.) And he had the miniature edition of _The Iliad_ stuffed in his pocket that he’d picked up in New York over Christmas break when he’d been visiting Abe and Caleb.

He was skimming a section of Achilles whining about Breseis when someone plunked a whiskey sour down on the table in front of him. By the time he closed his book and looked up, his drink giver had scurried off to find a chair, Ben’s spare having been claimed by a large group at a neighboring table almost as soon as Anna had left him. But in a moment, Alex was swinging a chair up next to Ben and setting down his own cocktail.

“Please, I beg you, tell me you are not reading poetry like some insufferable undergraduate who also likes black turtlenecks.”

Ben chuckled at Alex’s opening, and he shook his head in extreme shame. “I am quite embarrassed to say that I am, in fact, reading poetry.”

Alex groaned. “In a bar alone on Valentine’s Day. Ben, what am I going to do with you? Let me at least see what particular dross you are reading.” He snatched the book away and when he read the spine, he cocked a playfully annoyed eyebrow, which only made Ben laugh out loud. “Homer does not count as poetry.” He tossed the book on the table. “So, what are you doing out alone?”

Ben nodded at Anna and Selah on the other side of the bar standing in a corner. “I came with Anna, but she found better company. At least they left me the table.”

“Well, I suppose you couldn’t really stand in the way of true love and all that.” Alex turned back and looked at Ben. “Is it true love?”

He shrugged and thought about what Anna had told him about her feelings for Selah and their run-ins that never quite led to a real date or hooking up. “Maybe.”

“Well, I hope they are terribly happy and have lots of babies and all that happily ever after whatnot.” Alex took a very big drink of his cocktail and Ben polished off the beer he’d been nursing so he could get started on his whiskey sour.

“Did Washington make his deadline with Norton?” Ben asked, trying not to wonder what George might be doing this Valentine’s Day if his work was finished. Unbidden, the thought of George sprawled naked on some bearskin rug eating chocolates popped into Ben’s mind, and he literally shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the ridiculous and distracting image.

“Of course, he did. Washington would sooner die than miss a deadline. Or kill his grad assistant, whichever he required.” Alex scooted closer to the table, and his knee pushed against Ben’s thigh. He didn’t move it. “But I survived the week, and so did you, and I think that means we deserve to be free of Professor George Fucking Washington. Tell me about _The Iliad_.”

Ben smiled and lit a cigarette. “You can’t expect me to believe you’ve never read _The Iliad_.”

“What? I haven’t read _everything_. Oh fine. Tell me your favorite part.”

It wasn’t Ben’s first reading, either, Homer being something that seeped into his bones along with the more usual bedtime stories of childhood, his father a committed classicist. The only question was whether he should be honest and talk about how much he loved Hector’s heroism, so much greater in Ben’s eyes than Achilles, or if he should take the opportunity to flirt. The real question was what did he want out of tonight? It was Valentine’s Day and a beautiful and hurt, lonely man was clearly making a pass at him, and Ben had nothing else—no George, no prospects, just frustration and ache. Ben pressed his leg against Alex’s so there would be no doubt about their contact being merely passive on Ben’s side. “The relationship between Achilles and Patroclus is lovely, don’t you think?”

Alex slipped his hand across the table so that the tips of his fingers might stroke the side of Ben’s hand. “They were such good…friends.”

Ben suppressed the enormous guffaw that wanted to escape him and ended up snorting, but that only seemed to amuse Alex all the more. What was it Ben had thought about Alex back in the fall semester when they ran into each other here? _Sexy. I decided he was sexy. And he really fucking is. How does he always manage to look like he knows at least a dozen more things than you do at any given time? And why does that really turn me on? I might have a type_. “Yes, friends,” Ben said, sliding his hand away from Alex’s and dropping it under the table onto Alex’s thigh. “Very special friends.”

Alex finished his drink in a single gulp. “Ben, how would you feel about leaving here?”

Ben took another drag on his cigarette and looked at his drink, which was still a little over half full. “I hate to abandon my drink.”

“I paid for it, and I sincerely don’t give a fuck if you don’t finish it.” Alex moved his hand on top of Ben’s and directed it up his thigh, but he stopped before he reached his crotch, although Ben’s fingers were itching to keep going. “So, _now_ where do you stand on leaving here?”

Taking a last puff, Ben put out his cigarette and took a big drink of his whiskey sour, but there was still plenty left. “Let’s go.”

Outside the winter air slapped them in the face, and Ben hurried to zip up his coat, but he didn’t want to put on his gloves, so he shoved his hands in his pockets. In a bid to keep warm (surely), they walked so closely to each other their shoulders and arms were in near constant contact. Ben didn’t know where Alex lived, but he seemed sure of his direction, so Ben followed his lead. They said nothing for a couple of blocks, and Ben took advantage of the silence to think about whether or not this was actually a good idea. Alex was his friend, as was Gilbert, and he loved George. But George refused to be his, and Gilbert had left Alex, and right now, they needed each other. Ben couldn’t face another night alone in his room, probably drunk, but definitely obsessing over George.

Alex had directed them so that they were cutting across campus. In the dark of a towering tree, no one nearby in the night and cold, Ben pulled Alex off the sidewalk and deeper into the shadows and kissed him violently. Alex instantly fell into sympathy with Ben’s mood, and kissed him back, hands doing their best to search through thick winter coats.

Alex grabbed a fistful of Ben’s hair and pulled their faces apart. “I’m not Washington.”

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of Ben’s addled mind he knew he should deny this accusation, but he didn’t have the energy for lies tonight. “And I’m not Gilbert.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that straight, let’s go back to my room and pretend otherwise.” Alex claimed Ben’s mouth again, and Ben realized that he did have the energy for this particular lie.

***

Back at Alex’s, he poured Ben a glass of wine and set him down on the couch. It surprised Ben a little, since Alex had seemed just as primed for this hookup, but he didn’t attack Ben as soon as the door was closed, instead turning on some soft music in the background while they sipped red wine in dim lighting seemingly designed for moments like this one. But Alex did sit so close to Ben, and his hand not holding a wineglass constantly traced Ben’s arm, his thigh, his chest.

“We should have chat before we head to the bedroom,” Alex said, his fingertips circling Ben’s nipple through his shirt. “Because I think with a little discussion and negotiation, we can both get a great deal more out of tonight than a simple fuck.”

Ben leaned in and brushed his lips along Alex’s gorgeous neck. “That sounds good to me.”

Alex’s fingers threaded into Ben’s hair and the gentle caress quickly became a hard, nearly painful, pull. Ben’s eyes met Alex’s and his look was every bit as serious as it was sexual. “You want something you don’t have in your life—a brilliant man with a strong hand to guide you. I can offer you that, at least for a night. But I need to know now, Ben, do you just want guided, or do you long to be dominated, even punished? Because I can do that as well.”

Ben’s dick throbbed in his jeans and his stomach flipped at the possibilities before him. He had assumed Alex would be a confident and experienced lover, but he’d never given thought to anything so…elaborate. What would it be like to be dominated? How would Alex do it? And punished? Was Alex offering to, say, spank him? Did he want to be spanked? _How the fuck should I know, but fuck me, I want to find out_. “I don’t know. What can you do to help me make up my mind?”

Alex smirked, and Ben released a pent-up breath in relief that Alex was not disappointed in his uncertainty, and perhaps even turned on by it. “We could do so many things,” Alex said, picking up Ben’s hand from his lap, kissing the inside of Ben’s wrist. “If left to my discretion, I would tie your pretty hands to my bedpost and paddle your round ass red before I fucked you senseless. But if you don’t like that picture, we could—”

“No,” Ben cut in. “I like it a lot.”

With complete control, Alex set his glass down on the coffee table before taking Ben’s and setting it down as well. All the while, Ben felt as if he were coming out of his skin, and the moment the wine was safe, he crawled onto Alex’s lap and crushed him with a kiss. At first, Alex kissed him in return, his hands roaming freely over Ben’s back, but then he yanked Ben away by his hair once more, making Ben’s cock twitch. Ben was panting and blurry-eyed, but he focused quickly when he sensed Alex’s disapproval and then saw his frown.

“If we’re going to do this, I lead, you follow. You can have a safe word so I know if you genuinely wish to stop, but otherwise, from here on, you do as I say.”

“Yes,” Ben said, loving the authority with which Alex spoke these words, realizing that a strong force was exactly what he had been wanting. Part of why he loved George. “I’ll do as you wish.”

Alex kissed him hard, but swift. “Good. If you dislike anything I’m doing, just say ‘Caesar.’”

“But I thought I wanted you to be my tyrant tonight.”

They laughed and kissed and Alex pushed him firmly off his lap. “That’s your last objection.”

Taking Ben by the hand, Alex led the way into his bedroom, surprisingly neat in Ben’s experience of students, undergrad or graduate. The bed was big, the iron spindles for a headboard practically begging for ropes to run through them. And there were several drawers in the nightstand, from the top of which Alex pulled ropes, lube, and condoms. There was plenty more inside, but Ben looked away not wanting to pry, wondering if Alex had even kinkier proclivities he didn’t want to share tonight.

“Look at me,” Alex demanded, his voice brooking no hesitations. “Your eyes are so fucking blue.” He pulled Ben’s head down to meet his lips, and this kiss was less forceful, and yet, somehow the most intense of the night. Ben lost himself so entirely in it, he didn’t notice at first what Alex was doing when he grabbed Ben’s hands. The answer was winding the rope around Ben’s wrists so that they were forced together, palm to palm. Alex yanked on the length of rope dangling from the end of the knot, and Ben stumbled up onto the bed so that Alex might tie him to the headboard.

They were both still entirely dressed at this point, save for their wet boots that had been kicked off at the door. Alex began remedying that as he peeled off his own sweater and t-shirt and then went to work on Ben’s jeans. Glancing over his shoulder, Ben could see a little of Alex, but he had been positioned on his knees, facing the headboard. He was frustrated, wanting to look at Alex and help rid them of their clothes more quickly. Alex seemed to sense Ben’s anxiety, and he pushed a hand under Ben’s blue button-down and white t-shirt and up along his spine.

“Relax. You’re in my care. The whole purpose of this exercise is to let go while someone else handles everything.” He kissed the small of Ben’s back. “I promise you’ll get a good look at me at some point.”

Ben took several deep breaths while Alex pulled down his jeans and boxers and freed his erection, but he couldn’t get them entirely off until Ben twisted onto his side and rested his weight on his hip. It gave him a better view of Alex, his body trim and healthy, as well as Alex’s look of appreciation for him. “I always had a guess as to what you were hiding in your pants, but dammit Ben, you are gorgeous.”

“Are you just planning to stand and admire?”

Alex gave him a wolfish grin. “On your knees.”

Ben did as instructed, but in a show of defiance, knelt as upright as he could with his hands tied half way up the headboard, not offering his ass as Alex had clearly intended. He was greeted with as hard a slap to his ass as he had ever experienced. In fact, his body literally jolted forward with the impact and the sound had been shockingly loud. At least he somehow managed not to yelp.

“You give me insolence in response to my compliment?” Alex said. “I don’t think so.” He smacked Ben again directly on his left cheek. “And after you promised to do as I wished.” This time he smacked the right. “What am I to do with you?”

“In fairness,” Ben said between panted breaths, “you never said I had to be polite.”

This earned Ben several hard smacks, and with each one, he felt something in him shift and his cock grew harder. He had no explanation for the phenomenon, but he thought he might be breaking, yet somehow he wanted to break. He just closed his eyes and rode the wave of sensation.

“Benjamin,” Alex whispered, “you don’t have to goad me, you know. I already said I wanted to do this.” He slapped Ben’s ass harder still several times, and Ben felt the tingle of tears rising in his eyes. But it wasn’t pain, so much as release.

A release of tension and judgment and expectations. A release of everything he had kept balled up inside of himself this entire school year.

He couldn’t stop a sob. At some point, he had fallen forward into that position of offering his behind for punishment as he had so cockily tried to avoid at the beginning. He didn’t notice until Alex had to crawl under him to reach his face to dry his tears and kiss him. “You’re perfect, Ben. Utterly perfect.” He kissed Ben again, slow and sweet, and Ben felt what had been broken mending, made better by the experience of having been broken first.

Soon Ben’s kisses lost their sweetness; he was hungry again and needed more. And Alex fed his need, their tongues and teeth struggling to give and take more pleasure, until Alex started squirming so he could get out of his pants. “I need us both naked,” Alex told Ben.

 _Yes. His skin on my skin. Our sweat mingling. I want that. Fuck, I want that_. “Untie me.”

“Oh, I think not.”

“How are you going to get my shirts off?”

Alex slipped from the bed, and at first Ben thought that was just so he might finish taking off his pants more easily, but then he opened a drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a knife. Ben’s body went cold and his arms tingled, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with being half naked and tied up. Alex stood there, examining the blade in the light filtering from the other room. Ben knew nothing about knives, but it had a dark handle, about a nine-inch blade, and looked very sharp. “You aren’t terribly fond of that plain white t-shirt, are you?”

Ben wasn’t, but his mouth had gone dry and he didn’t know if he would be able to speak. He had never before been so simultaneously nervous and turned on in his life. “No,” he whispered, but then he cleared his throat and answered again. “No. I’m not.”

Alex crawled under Ben again, kissing him and unbuttoning the blue shirt. All the while Ben trembled, his dick aching and his heart pounding at what he knew would come next. Of course, the button down couldn’t be entirely removed, but he assumed Alex would be satisfied with just pushing it out of the way. And once it was open, Alex smiled through his kiss. “Let’s get this off then, shall we?”

He slipped out from under Ben and in a moment knelt behind, pushing the button down up to his neck. “Stay still,” Alex ordered. And then Ben felt the cold of the knife on his lower back for a second and he suppressed a shudder as the knife tore through the back of his shirt. When Alex hit the neck seam and it took a bit more effort, Ben instinctively ducked his head to get it out of the way and held his breath until he felt it give.

And then Alex was under him again, giving him kisses, the knife still clutched in his hand adding a surprising charge to the moment. “I suppose I have to get the damned sleeves, too. But if you keep very still again, I promise I’ll fuck you so deep you won’t even remember my name to scream it.”

Ben temporarily lost the ability to think straight as this thought sank in, but that was fine—it kept him still while Alex maneuvered around the bed and found the angles he needed to slice through the sleeves of his t-shirt and finally it came free in fluttering rags. Alex appeared beneath him again, pressing the flat of the blade to one of Ben’s nipples. “I like you too much in this blue shirt to cut it off. But before I put the knife away, is there anything else you would like me to cut?”

It took a moment for Ben to realize that Alex was offering to cut his body, and he thought about it for a moment. Ben had nicked himself before with a knife in the kitchen or fooling around with pocket knives with Abe and Caleb as kids, but he’d never intentionally cut himself, and certainly not as a way to seek pleasure. Again, he didn’t know what he would like, but rather than being turned on, this time, Alex’s look was sympathetic, and he kissed Ben lightly. “Maybe another time, then. Let’s get you open and get me inside you.

And Alex’s fingers inside him, preparing him, felt so fucking good Ben forgot about the knife and its possibilities. Alex had a knack for hitting or missing his prostate in equally frustrating and electric ways, and when he at last rolled on a condom and pushed inside, Ben didn’t know which way was up. His world had become a mass of sensation, and all he knew for certain at that moment was that he felt good, better than he had in an impossibly long time.

Then he was flipped over on his back, his hands above his head still tied to the headboard. A pillow was pushed under his hips, and Alex was inside him again. His thrusts hit Ben’s prostate every time, and he knew they would both be spending soon. Alex fell on top of Ben, burying his face into the crook of Ben’s sweaty neck as he continued to work his way in Ben.

“Gilbert,” he whispered.

Ben wished his hands were free so that he could embrace Alex and hold him close. He thought he felt tears on his shoulder. The best he could do was squeeze Alex with his thighs and kiss the side of his head.

But then the sensation began to overwhelm him, and the pressure of Alex’s body on his cock was too much, and he whispered, “George.”

“Gilbert,” Alex faintly whimpered.

“George,” Ben breathed softly through his tears.

***

The next morning Ben woke during the hazy gray when light begins to show, but the sun had yet to rise properly. He rubbed his sore wrists and slipped into his clothes as quickly and silently as he could. There was a moment when he thought Alex may have woken up, but if he did, Alex pretended to be asleep and Ben let him. When he got out into the living room, he contemplated leaving a note, but he didn’t know what he would say, so he just put on his boots and coat and left, happy that he was walking home early enough that he might not be seen.


	15. Chapter 15

When Ben saw Alex the following Wednesday, Alex merely smiled and chatted as they had always done in the past, as though their night together had been a hallucination. Everything was natural and comfortable, and Ben sighed with relief to have that weight off his mind, particularly since he then had to go to George’s office and face him for the first time since their latest argument. George presented a calm and stoic front as usual, and Ben didn’t know what to think as he tried to focus on discussing the final section and conclusion of his paper. They were polite and proper with each other and got a good deal of work done, even if Ben spent most of the hour desperately trying not to think about being tied to another man’s bed whimpering George’s name. A few times, George raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t ask Ben what had him so off kilter, probably not wanting to stir up the same emotions that had caused them to snap at each other the week before.

“I look forward to reading your final section,” George said as Ben packed his bag. “I hope your other classes continue well. And…things for you in general.”

_Fuck. Of course. George never asks about my personal life, but he probably thinks he’s atoning for last week by showing an interest. I’d be so much happier if he were still pissed and didn’t want to talk, at least not today. But it is entirely in line with my luck that the one time I actively want to avoid discussing my life, he asks about it. Could he sense something was off with me? Does he know me that well? Or is this just the least well-timed olive branch ever?_

“Things are fine. Classes are good. There’s a fair amount of reading for Dr. Kagan’s seminar, but I enjoy doing it.”

“I’m glad to hear things are well. I thought I detected,” he paused and studied Ben’s face, his soft eyes caressing Ben in a way they had not in quite a long time, “tension in you that I have not noticed before. But I am sure it is my own faulty perspective on things after the amount of grading I have done of late.”

Ben managed a smile, desperate to give a façade to his lie. “I’m sure grading can have a very deleterious effect.”

“You do not know the half of it. Have a good week, Benjamin.”

He left the office, strangely more uneasy than he had been walking in, even though there had been no arguing or cruel exchange of words. But rather than leaving the Theater Department, Ben decided to stop in Alex’s office, just to make certain all really was, in fact, well. And it was, Alex warmly inviting him in for vodka tonics when Ben knocked on his office door. Ben settled into his usual chair, and soon he had a coffee mug in hand, but Alex, rather than sitting behind his desk, perched on the corner of it so near Ben that their legs nearly brushed. Ben was wondering where this might be going, not sure if he would want to find himself in Alex’s bed again, but more certain than ever that he only loved and could love George. But Alex smiled down at Ben, and even though it was as magnetic as ever, it put Ben at his ease.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Alex began. “I want to talk to you briefly about the other night, and well, other things. Let me start by saying that I enjoyed myself immensely, and I hope that you did as well.”

Ben was in the middle of taking a sip from his mug, but he nodded as he swallowed. “Yeah. I definitely did. But it was…intense.”

Alex chuckled a bit and took a drink from his own mug. “Yes, it was. And I do not know if you can say the same, but it rather made me reevaluate my life. A strange thing to say about an entirely pleasurable liaison, but it did. And, well, the conclusion I came to is that I needed to make things right with Gilbert more than anything, which thank God, I managed, and we are back together.”

“I am really happy for you two. Like you said, what happened between us was great, but you and Gilbert belong together.” Ben smiled, and Alex blushed a bit, and Ben realized that Alex might be hoping for assurances and not just congratulations. “I haven’t told anyone what we did, and I promise you I won’t.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself terribly about that. Part of our reconciliation included me being honest with Gilbert about what I did while we were apart. But if you wish to keep this quiet, I know Gilbert will not say anything, and I have no intention of mentioning it again to anyone.”

Ben relaxed and had a sip of his drink, happy that he would not have to keep a secret from Gilbert, and also pleased that he wouldn’t have to look anyone else in the eye and wonder if they knew he’d been with Alex. Ben would have forever wondered if someone who knew they had fucked would also know the details, and those he would really rather not share with the world at large. He wouldn’t say he had done anything he was ashamed of, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to shout to the world how excited he had been with a knife blade pushing down on his nipple. 

And that was an end to their conversation, so February ended in a spectacularly uneventful fashion. George even continued to slowly warm toward Ben, little by little compliments mingling with suggestions on his thesis, even if George never again asked about Ben’s personal life. Although once in his excitement, George had rested his hand atop Ben’s, making them both a bit flustered, and Ben lived on the memory of that touch for days.

March dawned in the most wonderful manner possible. The weather was shit—snow and ice and temperatures no person should be expected to step out into for any reason. But something far more important distracted him from the freezing cold and mounds of snow.

Ben received his acceptance letter to Harvard.  

He called his parents, as well as Abe and Caleb. Anna, who had also received her own good news from Havard, got drunker than shit with him at the Anchor (and certainly drunker than he should have gotten on a Monday night when he had a Tuesday morning lecture). He even stopped by the Theater Department on Tuesday after French section, because Gilbert insisted Alex would want to know. Come Wednesday, the only important person he had left to tell was George, and he planned to do so at their usual meeting when he turned in his rough draft.

“Hi,” Ben said as he bounced through the door, closing it behind him. His smile, he well knew, was ridiculously wide, but what else could he do? “How are you doing?”

George turned in his chair toward Ben, his occasional tiny grin spreading in spite of his best efforts. “I am quite well, Benjamin. Thank you for asking. And how might you be? Has anything interesting happened in your life lately?”

“Alex told you, didn’t he?” Ben said, trying to sound annoyed, even though he couldn’t make himself feel or show it.

“If we are being technical, Gilbert told me. Congratulations.” George stood and took Ben’s hand to shake it, but once their palms touched the momentum of their bodies proved unstoppable and they embraced. George tried patting Ben’s back to make the gesture more like an avuncular uncle than a lover, but Ben sank into his arms, and George squeezed him tightly. “I knew they would accept you. They would have been absolute fools not to.”

Ben squeezed George more tightly, fighting the urge to do anything further as much as desire and mood prodded him. “Thank you. I know your reference must have helped.”

“It was my pleasure.” George slowly (reluctantly?) started to release Ben, but not before a soft kiss to his temple. “Now,” George said, clearing his throat and stepping back, “I believe you should have a rough draft for me.”

Not wanting to push the situation and risk ruining the returning warm rapport between them, Ben collected his emotions and opened his bag. “I do have it.” He pulled it out and handed the paper to George, trembling a bit at the thought of George reading it, and praying that he would like it.

“Excellent. Stop by on Friday and I will have my comments on the whole so you can begin revisions over break. I sincerely look forward to reading this.”

Ben wanted to throw himself at George or melt into a puddle on the floor, but he managed to remain where he was with a pleasant countenance, and politely say, “Thank you, sir.” But then he turned to zip his bag closed and leave, and it dawned on him that going to Harvard meant leaving George, and the thought of not seeing George again after the first of May severely dampened his spirits on his way back to his room.

***

Ben had what he considered an ideal spring break—no one was around and all he did was write, eat, and sleep. Caleb and Abe were having fun in Florida, as Ben knew from the drunk dial he received from them one night, but he was happy to have committed his break to work. He’d never been so productive, and come Monday morning, he overflowed with the excitement of having finished what he was reasonably sure was a good thesis. He even decided to print it out early and take it to George that afternoon instead of waiting for Wednesday. _Nothing is going to ruin my mood today. Life is fucking good_.

He should have known better. After his African-American Lit class, he stopped by the English Department office and was enjoying catching up with the department secretary, Jeri, who he hadn’t seen much that semester, since he was taking just the one English class, when Dr. Lee came into the department office. Ben nodded at him and turned back to Jeri who was telling him about the trip she’d taken with her nieces to Boston over break, when Lee butted in.

“So, Benjamin, I’m glad I ran into you,” Dr. Lee said as he poured himself some coffee.

Ben clenched his teeth and tried not to frown as he looked over to Dr. Lee. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve been brought up to speed on your senior thesis, and I have to say that I have several grave concerns.”

“Oh?” Ben said, reminding himself of what George had said about the size of academia and the fact he would be dealing with Dr. Lee for years to come. “I did not think you would still be concerning yourself with my thesis since Professor Washington is my advisor.”

Lee’s smarmy smile set Ben on edge, knowing that something bad was coming, and wishing he could run away and avoid it since hitting Lee wasn’t a valid option. “But I am your reader. You didn’t forget that the English Department would be selecting a reader for your thesis, and that I will help determine your final grade.” He paused, clearly in order to let the bad news really sink in, which, unfortunately it did. “I have to say that from what I know of your paper, it sounds remarkably similar to something I know Dr. Arnold is working on. That’s not good, Benjamin. Not at all. In fact, Harvard might be distinctly interested in knowing precisely how derivative your thesis is of your former advisor’s work.”

“Mine is not the derivative work.”

Dr. Lee chuckled. “We shall see. We _shall_ see.” And he sauntered out with his coffee.

“Are you okay, Ben?” Jeri asked, resting a maternal hand on his trembling forearm.  
  
“Yeah. I have to go, though. It was nice catching up.”

Ben pretty much ran from LC to the Theater Department and up the stairs, not even bothering to stop to say “Hello” to Alex who called to him from his office door. When he leaned against George’s door, he was out of breath, which just pissed him off more, because he longed to tell George everything and could not. He threw his bag on the green chair and slammed the door shut.

“Benjamin, what is the matter?” George asked, reaching out and almost rising, but hesitating before he touched Ben. “Can I get you something? Water, perhaps?”

“No. Just a sec,” he held up one hand while the other pressed against the stitch in his side. After sucking in a few deep breaths, he said, “Dr. Lee has been picked to be my reader. He said he ‘knows’ my work is derivative of Arnold’s and he’s going to tell Harvard that.”

“Blasted man,” George muttered under his breath, this possibly the strongest language Ben had ever heard him use. “Benjamin, I have no control over who the English Department appoints as your reader, although I cannot believe that Dr. Reed was so negligent as to allow Dr. Lee to have the job. But I promise I will do whatever I must with Harvard if that proves necessary.”

Ben nodded slowly, his breathing under control, even if his pounding heart still threatened to leap from his chest. “What will happen if the two of you give me different grades?”

George sighed and looked seriously at Ben. “The Senior Thesis Committee will sort out the discrepancy. If you are still not satisfied at that point, there are other avenues I can help you explore. But do not worry too much. If your paper goes to the Committee, they will have to read it, and no one who reads your work will be in any doubt of its extremely high quality. My advice is to finish your revisions in peace and give it to me Wednesday, when we will make any final adjustments necessary.”

“I have it,” Ben said, the pathetic tone of his voice so unlike what he had envisioned sounding like when he walked into George’s office with his revision complete. “I finished it yesterday, and I thought you might want it early, so I went ahead and printed it off now.” He opened his bag, and easily found the blue folder containing his thesis notes and pulled out his paper, his testament to years of love for and obsession with ancient Rome and _Cato_.

He held it out for George to take, which he did, but he dropped it immediately on his desk and stood, enfolding Ben in a warm embrace. “We will get through this, Benjamin. Do not let this trouble you. Whatever is required, I will see it done.”

Ben dug his fingers into George’s broad back and buried his face in his shoulder. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Without me? Why Benjamin, I will be at your side through all of this.”

“And after this? When I graduate and leave for Harvard, assuming they will still have me? What am I going to do then? My feelings haven’t changed. You must know that. It’s more than a paper, it’s…everything. It’s life. What am I going to do in Cambridge with you in New Haven? What—”

“Shh. Don’t fret, Benjamin. We will figure something out.” George’s hand cupped the back of Ben’s head, holding him snug against the strong shoulder. “So many things might happen. We cannot make ourselves miserable about possibilities.”

“I love you.”

Ben did not know how he got the words out around the lump in his throat, but then he held his breath awaiting George’s reply. His reply? _His reply is going to be to tell you to shut the fuck up already. You two have been over this. You’re so close to the end—don’t fuck it up for either of you, at least academically. Personally, there’s no hope anyway, so why rip your heart out over that?_

George briefly increased the pressure of their embrace before releasing Ben. “Go now. Focus on your other work and leave this with me. I will see you Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry if I….”

For the first time, George’s enigmatic half smile softened his face, and Ben thought he might be more handsome at this exact moment than at any other in their acquaintance. “Do not apologize. Go and rest.”


	16. Chapter 16

It felt weird wandering around in the warm sunshine with Anna after French class instead of going to George’s office. Two and a half weeks had gone by since Ben had handed George his paper, and this was the third Wednesday afternoon he had not gone to the office that, depending on how they had been getting along, had felt by turns claustrophobic and homey. But he and Anna had grabbed a drink at Mory’s and now they were just heading back to his room to drop his stuff and head to dinner. Where he promised himself he would not continue thinking about George and the security he had felt when George had embraced him.

“Hey there,” Mark said from his desk where he shuffled books in and out of his bag, likely getting ready to head to the library for the night. “You two going to dinner now?”

“Yeah,” Ben answered, dropping his backpack on his bed. “What about you?”

Mark nodded. “Dinner then library.”

“You know how people at high risk for being kidnapped are told to alter their routine and their routes?” Anna said. “Mark, I’m not paying your ransom, let’s get that straight now.”

“I would pay Ben’s beer fund to rescue you,” Mark smiled at her. “Oh, by the way Ben, your phone rang earlier, if you want to check messages.”

Ben wasn’t expecting anything interesting or important, but it would take two seconds to see if he had a message, and it would take Mark longer to finish organizing what he needed for the night’s expedition to the library, so he picked up his phone and punched in his code. He did, in fact, have one message, and he played it.

“Benjamin, hello, this is George. There is something I would like to discuss with you, if you might be able to stop by my office. Thank you.”

The message was so unexpected, Ben dropped the phone and then hung up before he ever figured out when George had called. “When did my phone ring?” Ben asked. “Was it long ago?”

Mark shrugged, but he was clearly thinking as he studied his clock. “Probably about half an hour ago. What’s up?”

“Professor Washington wants me to come to his office. God, what if it’s something about Lee screwing me over on my thesis? Or Arnold has gone to print. Fuck. You two go to dinner without me. I need to go see if Washington is still around.”

Ben bolted out the door and Anna shouted to his back that maybe he should call Washington and let him know not to leave his office yet, but Ben couldn’t take the time to turn back.

***

As he started up the familiar Theater Department steps, Ben slowed down and caught his breath. George would have to walk past him to get out of the building, so as long as he had not already left, Ben would be sure to see him. He longed to see George, but he also feared what he would say. On the race over, Ben had gone over so many scenarios—he failed his thesis, he wouldn’t graduate because of plagiarism accusations, Arnold was set to present his paper at the next MLA conference. Whatever George had to tell him, it would be a disaster.

The door to his office stood cracked, light coming from within, and Ben took a deep breath, telling himself to be grateful that at least he would soon know his doom and not be plagued by wonder. He knocked softly and pushed open the door. George sat behind his desk, and when he turned to look at Ben, his face gave Ben no indication what would happen next. Ben trembled in the doorway.

“Close the door,” George whispered.

Ben did so, now certain George was about to break the news to him that he’d talked to someone at Harvard and they were withdrawing his acceptance. He turned back to face George, uncertain if he wanted to hear the bad news standing up, so that he might make a swifter escape, or if he really ought to sit down.

George gave him no choice, as he rose from his chair and stalked directly to Ben, who took a nervous step backward and ran into the door. Using his body, George pinned Ben to the door, and then he took Ben’s face in his strong hands and brought their mouths together in a positively breathless kiss. Ben’s mind could focus on nothing, draw no conclusions, but in a moment, his body reacted for him and he slipped his arms around George’s waist and pulled him closer.

George leaned his forehead against Ben’s when they stopped kissing. “I turned in your grade today.”

And suddenly, Ben understood—George hadn’t called him here to give him bad news, rather he had called him here to give him the best news. Submitting his grade had always been George’s requirement before anything could happen between them, and now that had been done. They could….

Ben pressed his hand against the back of George’s head and forced their mouths back together. The kiss radiated through his body, but what truly thrilled his soul was how George kissed him back, his reluctance and distance now replaced by enthusiastic participation. Finally, this was happening. Ben couldn’t even begin to think about what he wished for most, part of him wanting to drop immediately to his knees, another part wanting to at last have the opportunity to squirm around in George’s lap in his office chair. But he also wanted to find the biggest bed in New Haven and a dozen bottles of lube and slowly open each other up and fuck for a month.

“I fear we are getting ahead of ourselves,” George said when he pulled back panting.

“You can’t possibly think that after all this time.”

“I meant to deliver this news in a decidedly more formal manner, but I saw you walk in, and there was something beautiful and vulnerable about you, and I needed you in my arms.”

Ben couldn’t contain a snort. “I thought for sure you had some terrible news about my thesis being rejected or word about Arnold or something equally horrid.”

George gently brushed his lips against Ben’s. “I am so sorry for worrying you. I never thought you would take my message thus. I apologize, most sincerely.”

“There’s no need to apologize, unless you’re serious about slowing down, because I think there’s no reason we need to take a moment longer.

“I believe there is.” George kissed him softly and slowly. “I do not wish to consummate our relationship in some hasty manner in my office. I want you to come to dinner.” He kissed Ben again and brushed his lips along Ben’s jawline back to his ear. “I want you to spend the night in my bed.”

Ben pressed his erection against George’s and they both moaned. “Then let’s go.”

“So that we may both hastily roll out of bed in the morning in order to rush to class? No. Besides, I am not prepared to make you dinner tonight.” George planted a firm kiss on Ben’s cheek and broke their embrace and turned back to his desk. “As long as you are free, I would like you to come over Friday night at 7:00.”

George began writing something on the pad of paper at his desk, and Ben had to admit that he enjoyed the view from behind George leaning over. Still, Friday night at 7:00 sounded terrible. “I don’t have anything important tomorrow morning. Or Friday morning for that matter.”

“Friday,” George chuckled, ripping the paper free from the pad and facing Ben once again. “At 7:00. Here.” He handed Ben the paper with his address on it.

“5:00.”

“6:30.” George kissed him once more. “And that is my final offer. I can’t have dinner ready earlier than that.”

Ben pulled George close and claimed his mouth once more in an open, wet kiss, wishing he could swallow George whole. “Are you sure about not doing anything in your office? I have several things I would like to do to you in that chair.”

“Oh, Benjamin.” George breathed into Ben’s mouth for a heartbeat before pressing their lips firmly together. “Friday. I will see you Friday.”

 

*** 

Wednesday evening to Friday evening passed more slowly than any other two days in Ben’s life. He went to his classes, turned in assignments, talked to people, but his mind never left George and what was finally about to happen between them. Those kisses in his office and the words they had exchanged made Ben’s body tingle when he recalled them, which was nearly constantly. Anna, of course, had noticed that something was going on, but he hadn’t managed to tell her anything until Friday afternoon when he explained why he wouldn’t be able to go to dinner with her.

“So,” she said, smirking all the while, “what are you taking with you?”

“With me? You mean like, condoms? I assumed he would have some, but yeah, I guess I should shove some in my wallet.”

Anna smacked him hard on the upper arm. “I mean for dinner. Let’s go to Quality Wine Shop so you don’t show up with nothing but your dick in your hand.”

The wine purchased, and Anna secure in her own plans with Selah after a quick phone call, Ben set off on foot to George’s, a comfortable walk from campus. In fact, it proved a little too comfortable, and Ben found himself outside the two-story brick twenty minutes early. _Fuck it. I can help in the kitchen if he isn’t done cooking dinner; I help mom all the time. Why the fuck didn’t I offer to help in the first place? I’m such an idiot_.

But George smiled when he opened the door and Ben slipped inside, the paper bag holding the wine getting a bit sweaty. He couldn’t name all the scents and foods, but the smell coming from the kitchen was glorious, and he found himself immediately happy he had agreed to dinner. When he turned around and saw George, handsome as ever in khakis and a navy-blue polo, just leaning against the closed door admiring him, Ben’s smile grew ridiculously wide. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“You’re too early if you want to sit down and eat right away.” George stepped up to Ben and kissed him softly with closed lips. “But exactly on time if you would not mind giving me a hand in the kitchen.”

“I’d love to.”

The meal was quite something, and Ben enjoyed every bite, even with George constantly asking if he liked it or needed anything else. To begin, George had prepared tomatoes stuffed with rice and basil, followed by apple cream porkchops with eggplant ramekins on the side, and then blackberry mousse for dessert. Ben’s bottle of red wine had been put aside in favor of dandelion wine that George’s half-brother, Lawrence, had brought up from the family farm in Virginia on his last visit.

“The secrets behind the wine have been in the family for generations,” George explained, leaning back in his chair, sated from the magnificent meal. He took another sip and smiled. “Lawrence is really the only member of my family I still see regularly, but I suppose as long as he keeps me in wine, I am coming out ahead.”

“Do you have other siblings? Are your parents still alive?”

“I had another half-brother, but he passed away at a young age, not long after my father died. My mother is still alive. However, we do not speak much.” George went on to explain his difficult family dynamic, and Ben’s heart went out to him, as he reminded himself how thankful he should be for having such a wonderful and close family. And then George told stories of horseback riding around Virginia and summer camps and college. Ben was entranced.

“Is it true you and Dr. Lee were at William and Mary together and he’s hated you ever since you beat him out for a part in some play?” Ben asked, drunk on wine, food, and warm feelings.

George chuckled behind his wine glass, but he also nodded. “Henry V. You might say our relationship for the past two plus decades could be summed up as ‘Once more unto the breach.’”

“You must have been remarkable!” Ben said, genuinely awed at the thought of George with his commanding presence and perfect voice performing some of Shakespeare’s most wonderful speeches. “I would have loved to see it.”

“There is a reason I became not just a professor, but a professor of criticisms and literature, and not an actor or acting teacher. My performances were good enough, particularly for the college stage, but my love for theater is best suited to scholarship.” Ben wanted to protest, George’s readings of _Cato_ sitting at his desk impressive in their own right, but George waved a dismissive hand before he could say a word. “Enough of my reminiscences for one night. I have something I want to show you in the living room.”

George held out his hand to Ben, and what could he do but take it, feeling breathless and still a little in shock that this wonderful night was happening at all. With a smile and a calming air, George led Ben into the living room, which was much like the other rooms in his house, neat with well-made, neutral colored décor. He walked them both to the far end of the room near a large window with a seat and gauzy curtains. Next to the window stood a relic of Ben’s childhood—a record player. George turned it on and the turntable whirled, and after a flick of a lever, a record dropped and the needle rested itself at the beginning. George released Ben’s hand so he could bend over and move the arm a couple of songs in. When he stood back up and smiled at Ben, the sound of Ella Fitzgerald singing the words, “After one whole quart of brandy,” filled the room.

Without a word, George raised Ben’s left hand to his shoulder and grasped the right with his left before pulling Ben close with his right on Ben’s waist. “I’ve wanted to do this the entire school year,” George whispered in Ben’s ear as they began moving slowly about the room. “That evening at Mory’s, I knew—as much as I didn’t want to, I knew. Benjamin, I am so glad you are here at last.”

“We have so little time,” Ben said softly, loving how it felt to be in George’s sure arms, unsurprised to find that George was an elegant dancer. “So little time.”

“Do not think of that. Think of what we have now, and trust the future will see to itself.” George pulled him closer, not missing a beat, even as their erections brushed and a thrill rushed through Ben’s entire body.

For a time, they danced, their breathing and movements falling more into sync as the song continued, Ben under no illusion he had anything to do with it, the credit entirely George’s for actually knowing how to dance. But when the song neared the end and the transition to Ella forsaking her newly found love, Ben said, “I want you to make love to me, George. I want you inside me, your strong hands on my body, the two of us as close as two people can be.”

George pulled back his face so that he might look at Ben as they continued dancing. “I want us together in every way imaginable.”

Ben didn’t even think to try and restrain himself from kissing George, pressing his open mouth to George’s. “Yes,” he panted into George’s mouth. “I want that, too. And I want to start with you fucking me.”

“Language, Benjamin.”

This little reproof made Ben’s cock twitch and he practically tried to climb George in his excitement, all thought of dancing a memory. Still, George tried to steer him, and in a moment Ben realized the direction was toward the bedroom he had seen when he’d gone to the bathroom earlier. Once that dawned on him, Ben stopped trying to climb and started cooperating in getting them onto a bed.

Focused on what was important, George and Ben kissed their way quickly into George’s room where they fell onto the king-sized bed, their lips never parting, their bodies acting without thought to find each other and the necessary friction. Ben toed his shoes off, and when they clattered to the floor, it seemed to give George the same idea. They thrashed about until George’s shoes fell and they could set to work on pants and shirts. Ben had George’s belt open and button undone in the space of time it took George to frantically work his way along Ben’s button-down shirt. The shirt pushed open, George forced Ben onto his back and touched and stared until he could hold back no longer, and he pressed his mouth to Ben’s chest, dragged his tongue across Ben’s nipples, sucked on the skin of his stomach.

Ben threw his head back and moaned. “This feels so good.”

George nipped at Ben’s abdomen with his teeth. “Worth the wait?”

“Nothing will ever make up for the time we lost.” Ben sat up and brought their mouths together again, and soon they were both kneeling to make it easier to slide pants and boxers over hips, and then they took turns laying down while the other pulled everything free. With Ben quickly whisking George’s shirt over his head, they were both naked.

They both took a few heartbeats to just stare and soak in the other’s body, but then George pushed Ben back down on the bed, his hands as strong as Ben had always assumed. He turned and opened the drawer in the stand next to the bed, removing a bottle of lube. After dumping some on his fingers, all the while looking directly into Ben’s face, he rubbed his fingers together to warm it a bit, and then reached under Ben, circled his entrance once, twice, sending Ben nearly out of his mind, and then on the third time, he pushed inside.

“You have no idea what you look like, do you?” George said in his naturally seductive tones.

Ben couldn’t help but to try and chuckle. “And you have no idea what you sound like, I bet.”

“You like the sound of my voice, do you?” George asked as he slowly moved his finger in and not quite out, teasing that he might at some point deign to reach all the way to the prostate. _I might fucking explode when that happens. Shortest sexual encounter since I lost my virginity_.

“I was always late reading my lines in _Cato_ , because I was lost in your voice. I would think about how you sound as I fell asleep at night. If it were possible to make love to a voice, I would pick yours.”

“Well, I can at least offer you the opportunity to make love while hearing my voice.” He pushed in a second finger. “Will that suffice?”

Ben pushed down on those fingers, even though it burned and was almost too much, too soon, but he wanted it so much, he had to hurry it along any way he might. “Yes. Promise you’ll say my name when you’re inside me.”

George moved his fingers deliberately, twisting and scissoring them until Ben’s eyes rolled back in his head. “I doubt I will be able to say much of anything else.” Laying down beside Ben, still working his fingers, George kissed Ben’s chest, tongue lazily dragging about, his soft, moaning breaths on Ben’s skin, ecstasy. Ben did what he could to laced his own fingers into George’s short hair, not directing his movements, but loving the sense that he was connected to them. And even as George began to work faster, Ben never felt as though George was ever anything other than utterly in control of the situation.

“Do you feel ready?” George whispered.

 _Am I ready? Am I fucking ready? This is all I’ve wanted for so long. My little crush last year in seminar grew into infatuation and love that led to pain and disappointment and want and the fear this would never happen. Am I ready?_ “Yes. God, yes. So ready. Please.”

George removed his fingers and wiped them on a towel he took from the dresser drawer. Once he dropped that, he had a condom, which he deftly opened and rolled on before pouring lube on it. Ben would have loved to feel George bare inside him, and he promised himself that someday he would—somehow, they would make this work, and they would be together, just the two of them. Overwhelmed with passion and need, Ben could no long lay back and passively allow George to please him.

Ben kissed George, and with hands on his shoulders, Ben maneuvered George to the headboard. Then, as he had longed to do so many times in George’s office, Ben climbed onto his lap. George quickly saw Ben’s intent, and he cupped Ben’s ass and gently spread him while Ben reached around and took hold of George’s magnificent cock and slowly lowered himself upon it. Once or twice along the way, Ben paused, but when George was entirely inside him, Ben dropped his head to George’s shoulder and clutched at George’s back. “Fuck. I love you. I love you, so much. Oh God.”

With George’s hands helping on his hips, Ben moved himself up and down, cautiously at first, the sensation nearly too much. But much like when they were dancing earlier, they soon found a rhythm, and gripping each other close together, Ben’s cock pinned between them, they built steadily toward climax. Yet, Ben didn’t want it to end, both loving and cursing every time George’s cock brushed across his prostate. Still, he could feel himself leaking against his own stomach, and as George’s breaths grew more ragged, he knew George would not last much longer.

“So good, George. So close.”

“Benjamin. Oh, God. Can you hold on? I long to taste you.”

The idea nearly had Ben spending instead of holding off. “I…I don’t know. You feel so fucking good, George.”

George squeezed Ben so tightly to him, it actually hurt, but Ben loved George all the more for this uncontrollable passion and the shedding of his stoic demeanor. “Benjamin. Oh God, Benjamin.” George held Ben even tighter with his right arm while he dropped his left flat to the bed beside him so he could get leverage to push up into Ben. In a few forceful thrusts, George was shaking and whispering Ben name as he spent.

Through some miracle, Ben’s aching cock remained full, but in desperate need. As swiftly as he might without hurting Ben, George used his strong hands to pull Ben up and off and deposited him on the bed. Shaking with need, Ben lay on his back, waiting for George.

In a fluid, effortless movement, George shifted and bent his head down to take Ben into his mouth. He did not tease or ease himself into it, but swallowed Ben’s cock until the tip of it hit the back of his throat. Ben moaned and now it was his turn to thrust up into George. Going after what they both wanted—George, his taste; Ben, his release—George wasted no time, sucking Ben hard and deep, and once more a finger found its way past Ben’s entrance, but no longer did it hint at his prostate, but went directly for it, instead. It took almost no time at all for Ben to come down George’s throat.

He eyes couldn’t focus, and his body trembled, and Ben stayed as he was, nothing of his surroundings registering until he realized George had the towel, cleaning him up. When Ben picked his head up and looked down at George, he was rewarded with a smile, a sweet smile he could grow very used to. “That was everything I thought it would be and more.”

George set the towel down on the bedside table and then curled his body to Ben’s side. “I love you, too.” He softly kissed Ben’s lips and they wrapped their arms around each other.

For many minutes, they just lay there together, breathing and enjoying the sense of skin on skin, but then Ben thought he heard something from the other room. Listening more closely, he realized that George must have had multiple records ready to play. Try as he might, though, he could not place the song, but he found the soft notes reaching him pleasing. “What’s playing?” he finally asked.

George tilted his head slightly, as he probably could not hear well with one ear on Ben’s shoulder. He grinned happily with his eyes closed. “It’s ‘Love Walked In.’ It was the last song George and Ira Gershwin wrote together. It’s all about how someone was ready to give up on love until the right person walked into his life.” He opened his eyes and looked directly into Ben’s. “It is a sentiment I understand.”

Ben leaned down, and George met him half way, and they kissed. “Me, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think George and Ben's dinner sounds tasty? If so, you can make it yourself, just like George Washington would have. Everything they eat, from the side dish to the wine, is taken from recipes on the Mount Vernon website.
> 
> https://www.mountvernon.org/inn/recipes/article/apple-cream-pork-chops/
> 
> https://www.mountvernon.org/inn/recipes/article/wild-rice-stuffed-tomatoes-with-basil/
> 
> https://www.mountvernon.org/inn/recipes/article/eggplant-ramekins/
> 
> https://www.mountvernon.org/inn/recipes/article/blackberry-mouse/
> 
> https://www.mountvernon.org/inn/recipes/article/dandelion-wine/


	17. Chapter 17

On Monday, Ben tried to go about his morning as though it were like any other Monday morning. In truth, his body ached in the most glorious ways imaginable. As George had desired, Ben spent the night in his bed Friday, and when they woke up Saturday, neither of them were in any hurry to quit it. In fact, they lay entwined, once stroking each other off, then later in the early afternoon they rose and ate mounds of eggs and bacon. After that, they showered together, bodywash making extraordinarily good lube for opening each other up. Dripping wet and blinded with passion, they had tripped back to the bed and the condoms and taken turns fucking each other—Ben screaming on all fours with George pulling on his hips from behind, and then George on his back and Ben leaning over him tenderly. They had laid exhausted and spent until George rose to reheat leftovers from the night before and Ben changed the bedding. By the time they finished dinner, the sun was setting, and it was decided Ben should just spend the night again.

That night and the following morning brought continued bliss, both of them reveling in the other’s body. Sadly, they both had to agree that not all their work could be ignored, and Ben stumbled back to his dorm Sunday afternoon, sore and happy, and barely able to focus on his work. But he managed, as he knew George would want.

And Monday morning, he hauled himself to class, trying to concentrate on his classmate’s presentation on _Beloved_ , in spite of how his body ached and the fact the Thesis Committee should be announcing his grade later that day. After class, Ben bolted out of LC, desperately wishing to avoid Dr. Lee, and headed for the Theater Department.

Alex and Gilbert were just heading inside when Ben arrived, and they made their way up the stairs together, Ben happier than he could say that his night with Alex hadn’t harmed his relationship with either man. Once Alex had his office door unlocked, he let Gilbert in, but he stepped back into the hallway with Ben, slipping a friendly arm around Ben’s shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy. You are glowing so much that, if you were a girl, I would say you were expecting, after having been expertly plundered.”

“Well, the plundering is fairly accurate, but I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant. We used protection.”

Alex laughed and squeezed him tightly. “I’m happy for you, Ben. I apologize for slowing you down. Go see him.”

Released, Ben spared Alex a smile, and then hurried around the corner and down the hall to George’s office. Without thinking or giving his customary knock on the doorframe, Ben just burst in when he saw George at his usual spot behind his desk. He was about to close the door behind him, when George turned, and Ben saw that he was on the phone. Ben made a gesture behind him, indicating he would be happy to leave, but George waved for him to sit in the traditional green chair.

“Yes,” George said into the phone. “Yes, I understand. And you understand that we will be addressing the full committee about the issue?” A pause. “Very good. Yes. Goodbye.” George turned back and hung up the phone with a sigh.

“Lee gave me a shit grade,” Ben said, not surprised, but still miserable that he would have to fight this.

“And accused you of having based your paper on Dr. Arnold’s research.” He now looked back at Ben with a frown. “In other words, he has done precisely as he has threatened.”

“As Peggy Shippen warned me,” Ben said with a shake of his head, still unable to believe some professor at Columbia he had never met was attempting to ruin his future. “So, now we go to the full Thesis Committee?”

“It is not only that, since an accusation of unethical behavior has been made, the Committee is only concerning itself with misconduct. Dr. Lee has files from Dr. Arnold that he claims prove you based you paper on his work.”

Ben shook his head, unable to believe that Arnold had gone so far as to manufacture false proof of Ben’s plagiarism. Not that he should be surprised that the snake who had stolen his work would stoop even lower. But where did this leave him? Without his discs, that surely didn’t even have the proper date stamps anymore and that he couldn’t prove had been his anyway, he had no evidence to counter whatever Lee had presented to the Thesis Committee. “I’m fucked.”

George reached across his desk and took Ben’s hand. “We still have an opportunity to address the Committee. Do not lose heart yet. You will have to miss your French section tomorrow afternoon. We are scheduled to met with them at 1:00.”

Ben nodded. “I walked in with Gilbert. He’s down in Alex’s office. I’ll let him know.”

“We will fix this, Benjamin. I promise.”

***

As much as Ben normally adored Dr. Kagan’s lecture, he barely paid any attention in class Tuesday morning. The second the class ended, he sprinted out of the lecture hall and raced back to his room to change into nicer clothes to wear in front of the Thesis Committee and maybe, just maybe, to try and calm down a little. _Yeah right. That’s not going to fucking happen anytime soon. Your entire life is hanging in the balance._ George had promised that he had friends at Harvard that he could talk to if things went ill with the Committee so that Ben’s acceptance was not withdrawn, but Ben doubted that if Yale found him guilty of academic misconduct on his senior thesis that Harvard would still take him. This afternoon literally would decide his fate.

Ben raced up the steps to his room but came to a shocked and abrupt stop as soon as he passed through the open door to his suite.

“Tallboy! Fuck. I thought you’d never come back.”

Caleb was seated comfortably on his couch playing video games with Mark while Abe looked on from a chair next to them.

“Excellent,” Abe said, springing to his feet. “I have a paper due at 5:00, and I was starting to wonder if we’d get back to the city in time.”

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Ben asked, dropping his bag and giving Abe a distracted slap on the back in welcome. “Abe, shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I very much should be,” Abe answered, “But it was far too important to be here. Caleb, the evidence.”

Caleb flipped the controller out of his hand, and Mark thoughtfully stopped the game, ending the sounds of explosions. His hands now free, Caleb reached beside himself and held up a folder, a disc carrier, and a three-ring binder. “Yours. Absolutely yours. We checked first this time. And from what Mark tells us, our timing is pretty damned good.”

“What?” Ben asked, utterly in awe, as Abe laughed and gave his shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “You found my research?”

“Well, Cicero did,” Abe said. “And he found something even better, given your current predicament.”

Caleb dropped the discs and the binder so he could remove the contents of the folder. With what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, he turned the papers he held around so that Ben could see them. They were pictures. At first Ben could not make out what they were, so he sat down on the floor and took them from Caleb, at which point he realized they were pictures of a naked man and a naked woman doing something best described as disgusting.

“I don’t think I’m gong to ever be able to eat pineapple after this,” Abe said.

Ben turned the picture in his hand, and nearly retched when he realized what Abe was talking about.

“Cicero showed them to Abigail,” Caleb explained as Ben continued to stare in wonder at the pictures. “She says that’s the Sheraton in DC where the MLA conference was a couple years ago. And based on, well, what the young lady is willing to do with various fruits, we’re guessing she might be a professional.”

Ben’s jaw dropped when he flipped to the next photo. “My God. Is that Dr. Lee?”

“I confirmed it,” Mark nodded. “That is, in fact, the asshole trying to ruin your senior thesis.”

“And you found these pictures in Arnold’s office?”

“Specifically, Townsend said he saw Andre give those to Arnold one night in Rivington’s,” Abe explained. “He figured they were important to you when he overheard Arnold say these pictures would assure Lee would do everything they ask him to in order to fuck over ‘that damned Tallmadge.’”

“This could change everything!” Ben said. He jumped up and looked at his watch. “Fuck. I need to get ready to meet with the Thesis Committee. And Abe, you need to get your paper turned in. Guys, I cannot tell you how much this means to me.” He pulled Abe into a hug. “Get Cicero and Abigail drunk as hell and then send me the bill.”

“Not a problem,” Abe answered, squeezing Ben tight. “We’d do anything for you.”

Ben pulled back and patted Abe’s cheek before letting him go and turning to Caleb who was now up as well. He yanked Caleb into a crushing hug. “You’re the best friends anyone could have.”

“Don’t forget that when we send you that bill, Tallboy.”

Ben stacked his treasures and took them into his room where he threw the pile on the bed while his computer booted and he changed clothes. He trusted Caleb and Abe when they said they’d checked the discs, but Arnold had taken so many, Ben wanted to know before he showed them to the Committee exactly which discs these happened to be. His nerves were so on edge, he was having trouble buttoning the shirt he pulled out of his closet.

“Good God, Bennyboy, you look at nervous as a bride on her wedding night,” said Caleb. “You need me to button that for you?”

“I am competent to change clothes, thank you,” Ben answered, deciding to save buttoning for after he switched from his jeans to khakis. _How can my computer be this fucking slow? I swear, I am going to throw it out of the window._

Of course, it finished booting as he was standing there in his boxers, one foot in and the other out of his pants. 

“Want me to pop one of these bad boys in?” Abe asked, opening the red disc case.

“Go for it,” said Ben, getting into his pants as quickly as he could. In fact, he didn’t actually have them buttoned or zipped when he sat down in front of the computer and opened the first disc. “Son of a bitch. My list of sources and where they fit on the outline.” He could vividly recall how frantic he had been for this particular file, and he almost wanted to weep when he double clicked to open it. He might have finished his thesis without this outline and source list, but he couldn’t help wondering how much better it could have been with it.

He initially scanned the document to make certain that this really was it. Once he was sure that this was, in fact, the document he had most missed, he couldn’t stop himself from scrolling through until he found the blasted missing source. And there it was, in the outline, just where he had expected to find it. _But, wait. That can’t possibly be the right source. I ran across that article when I was redoing all the research. It’s crap. The article I replaced it with was a million times better._ “Well, fuck me,” Ben whispered. “Fuck me.”

***

The Thesis Committee turned out to be utterly fucking useless. Ben arrived in plenty of time and he and George talked, but obviously did not touch, while they waited. Ben could have desperately used a kiss or at least a friendly pat on his hand, but they both well knew they could not risk it. And so Ben went in and explained to the Committee the (accurate) situation from his perspective, and also showed them the discs and the binder. Of course, when he explained where the discs and binder had been and how he obtained them (although he used no names), the Committee seemed dubious.

“Why would Dr. Lee make this accusation if he knew it to be false, as you seem to be claiming?” asked Dr. Scott, the chair of the committee.

Ben looked over at George, since they had agreed they would only show the pictures as a last resort. George nodded, and Ben presented what had clearly been Andre’s blackmail over Dr. Lee. The Committee members, however, were horrified, and not necessarily more disposed to listen to Ben.

“We will consider your evidence, but I must say, we do not take kindly to these sorts of accusations and tactics against faculty members,” said Dr. Scott.

Ben sat silently as the committee members filed out, George at his side, neither of them moving.

“They are going to fail me,” Ben said. “My academic career is over before it starts.”

Finally, George took Ben’s hand in his own strong one and squeezed. “We have other avenues. Let me see if we can get a meeting with the Director of Undergraduate Studies. He can reverse the decision of the Senior Thesis Committee. You aren’t done yet, Benjamin. We aren’t even close to done yet.”

***

“Benjamin,” the glorious voice said over the phone Sunday evening. Ben had been in the middle of trying to read for his African-American Lit class, but George could interrupt Alice Walker any time he cared to.

“George,” Ben said, his heart racing at the sound of that voice. _Thank God Mark is out. I’m blushing like an idiot_. “Have you heard anything?”

“Dr. de Grasse says that he will meet with us tomorrow morning at 9:00. Is that acceptable?”

“I have African-American Lit at 10:00, but I’m sure Professor Wayne won’t care if I miss class for this. Well, he might, but I’m pretty sure I don’t care.”

“I am quite sure it will be fine. I’m on the tenure committee with him, and we have a rapport.” George paused, and Ben could hear him breathing unevenly, so he waited for George to continue. “We will get through this. I promise you. I love you too much.”

Ben closed his eyes, too overwhelmed to speak for a moment.

***

Ben was pretty sure he hadn’t worn a tie at 9:00 am for any reason other than church in his life, but here he was, trying to look presentable in the waiting area outside of Dr. de Grasse’s office. He couldn’t imagine that the man was already running behind at this point in the day, and he knew he was on the other side of the closed door in front of Ben, so he didn’t know why he and George were still sitting outside waiting. Ben shifted and recrossed his legs, and George reached over him, gripping the armrest on the far side of his chair.

“Stop fidgeting, Benjamin. Dr. de Grasse is notoriously…flexible about the timing of his meetings, but he will see us soon, and it will go more smoothly if you have not worked yourself up into a frantic state.”

Ben took a deep breath and nodded, reminding himself to trust George. “I know you’re right, but he’s really kind of intimidating.”

George pulled his arm back and folded his hands comfortably in his lap. “He has a certain Gallic coolness that comes across as intimidating, I suppose. But he is a smart man, about both academia and people. He is also a fair man. Combine all those factors—dispassion, various kinds of intelligence, fairness—and he is precisely the sort of man you want to have sitting in judgment should you find yourself in such a situation as this.”

Before Ben could answer, the door to the office opened, and the Director of Undergraduate Studies’ secretary stepped about and greeted them with a moderate smile. “Dr. de Grasse is ready to see you now. Would either of you care for coffee or water?”

George peeked at Ben, who shook his head, speaking difficult at the moment, and he answered for both of them. “No, thank you. We shall just go in.”

The office was lit with the sun coming through high windows on two walls, although much of the light was lost in the thick navy blue carpet and dark furniture. From behind the desk, a thin older man with a serious air rose and slowly made his way around as though presenting himself in this manner was part of the privilege of being allowed into his office. Still, he smiled slightly as he came to a stop a comfortable distance from Ben and George.

“Dr. Washington,” he said, offering his hand to George, who quickly took. “And this must be Mr. Tallmadge.”

Ben shook the offered hand. “Thank you for seeing us,” Ben said. “It means a great deal to me that you have taken time out of your schedule for me.”

Dr. de Grasse shrugged and gestured at some chairs around a coffee table to the left of his desk. “It is my job to mediate in such affairs.” They all settled in, George and Ben on one side, de Grasse on the other. “I have heard from Dr. Scott and spoken with Dr. Lee, but I would like to hear in your own words what is the truth of this peculiar situation.”

Ben took the lead explaining the matter as he and George had decided the night before on the phone. He explained his long affinity for _Cato_ and dream to write this thesis. He told how he had approached Dr. Arnold the previous school year, and their initial enthusiasm for the project. He told how he had returned from summer break to find his work and advisor gone, and then George added some points of interest about how he had become Ben’s advisor over Dr. Lee’s objections. And then he produced his recently recovered binder, even confessing that someone he knew in New York had recovered it for him. “But this is clearly my handwriting, and if you look at the dates, they are all previous to Dr. Arnold’s departure. Yes, I could have added this all later to support my claim, but the paper is not new and the ink is smudged. I don’t have any better proof.”

“Well, you have some rather interesting photographic evidence, which I am happy to take for granted without seeing myself, since I do not presume the content of these photographs is in question, merely the provenance.”

“That is accurate, sir, yes.”

Dr. de Grasse sat back and eyed them both, a curious quirk to his lips. “Whether or not Dr. Arnold stole your research or you stole his ideas is not something that can be proven one way or the other.” He spoke slowly and softly, but articulating each word. Still, Ben sat forward, afraid he might miss something. “All I can decide is how your senior thesis might be graded. To that end, I do not know that Dr. Lee can be considered an unbiased reader, and his grade is wildly different from that of your advisor, whose integrity is not the least in question.” He stopped to nod at George. “I shall inform Dr. Reed that he must select a new reader for your thesis, one who cannot in any way be accused of bias for or against your work. You will have a final grade at the end of the week. And because it cannot be proven, no mention of academic misconduct will be attached to your record. Is this acceptable to you gentlemen?”

Ben wanted to cry, to jump up and hug the proper little Frenchman. But instead he nodded and looked at George with a stupid grin on his face. “Perfectly acceptable. Thank you, sir. Thank you so very much!”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick wrap up chapter in which we see how happy everyone is. Yippee!

Anna was waiting for him after he finished meeting his advisor for the first time. In their first week in Cambridge, they had managed to find a great coffee place around the corner from the apartment building where they both lived, and the idea was that they would have a pick-me-up before exploring the bars the weekend before classes started. The weather was perfect for wandering around checking out their neighborhood, and he had been looking forward to this since he rolled out of bed at the crack of noon to shower and make his appointment. But he had a feeling their evening out was about to be canceled—Anna was grinning so broadly, he actually started laughing.

“You’re bailing on me, aren’t you?” he asked. “Caleb and Abe already have, and now you, too.” Caleb and Abe had been scheduled to visit for the weekend, but then they had called last night to say they weren’t coming. Abe, apparently, had finally managed to get a date with a woman in his law class named Mary, and Caleb confessed that he actually wanted to be responsible the final weekend before he started back up at NYU for his delayed senior year.

“Selah called,” Anna said, pulling out two cigarettes and offering him one. Once she had them lit, she went on. “It turns out he’s free and coming for a visit. He’ll be here in about an hour. So we still have time for coffee.”

Ben laughed some more, genuinely happy that Selah was making an effort to keep his relationship with Anna going, even though they were living in different towns now. It had been a shaky start, Selah looking like he was just going to let Anna drift off. But she sat him down the week before graduation and explained to him how things were going to work. “And when I say I ‘Sat him down,’” she told Ben later, “I mean I sat on his face, at which point, he understood we were dating.”

Ben glanced at his watch, and he realized that he if they skipped coffee, he had enough time to hop on the T, and…. “No, that’s fine. You probably want to get ready for Selah. I can amuse myself.”

It was now Anna’s turn to laugh at him. He didn’t mind a bit. “I’m not sure ‘amuse myself’ is entirely accurate.”

“Whatever. See you later. Give me a call if you and Selah come up for air.”

“As if you’ll be around to answer.”

Ben was then off to the Harvard T stop. He’d spent the past week familiarizing himself with the Boston transit system, and he could now make this particular trip without worry or checking the map more than two or three times. Still, he was jittery and anxious as the train neared his stop and he jumped to his feet long before the doors slid open.

But in another moment, he was hurrying up the sidewalk past Boston University buildings. He had actually come here his first day in Boston to learn his way around this campus, even before he’d walked around the Harvard campus. Of course, he had been to Harvard before and knew where all his classes would be held, where to find the administration, the various libraries. But he knew nothing about the BU campus, and, well, there were a few places he would be visiting.

BU had a highly rated theater program, most notable for turning out actors. However, the new department chair decided that the school needed to improve the scholarly side of the department, and to that end, he convinced BU and some very wealthy alumni to endow a professorship to focus on theater history and criticism. Professors from around the world had applied, but one candidate stood out from the others.

Ben jogged up the stairs of the theater building, needing now to haul himself all the way up to the third floor to see the nameplate on the door he longed for. _Well, I could take the elevator, but it seems to date from around the Eisenhower administration, so I’ll stick with the stairs._ Plus, he found it best to take the stairs so that he could work off a little of his excessive exuberance, still marveling that it was just a short ride on the T and a couple flights of stairs to get to see the man he loved. All with no subterfuge or worries.

When he reached the third floor, Ben slowed a little to catch his breath and hit the water fountain along the way. Back at Yale, of course, he could have had a quick cocktail with Alex. The memory made him smile, especially when he thought of the house warming party he had attended over the summer when Alex and Gilbert had decided to buy a house together in New Haven. He had never seen either of them so happy. They both had said the same of him.

And it was true. Just a week before their party, George had called to give Ben the good news, and Ben hadn’t stopped smiling since. And he didn’t really intend to now.

Leaning against the new doorframe, sunlight from the window beside his desk illuminating his office in ways the old one never had been, Ben tapped lightly on the door of the newest member of the BU Theater Department faculty.

“Benjamin,” George said in his most glorious voice, as though his entire intention of saying hello was to make Ben hard. “I thought you had plans for the weekend.”

“All of my friends have canceled on me, mostly due to romantic entanglements, which gave me an idea that I should have my own romantic entanglement.” Ben stepped inside and closed the door behind him, locking it for good measure. “You didn’t have plans, did you?”

George’s lips started to curl in a smile as he eyed Ben, who was now crossing the tidy office so he could close the blinds. “I have a great deal of class preparation. New school, new classes, new expectations, and all that.”

George had swiveled in his chair—a lovely piece of furniture, broad and sturdy—to follow Ben’s progress, so Ben could easily slip around the corner of the desk to place himself directly in front of George’s seated form. “You surely do not need every spare moment between now and Monday morning to accomplish that,” Ben said, planting his feet firmly on either side of George’s.

“No. I need to eat and sleep, of course. I could probably squeeze in a dinner date.”

Ben smirked down at him. “A date? Would you like to take me out on a date, Professor Washington?”

George reached out and placed his strong hands on Ben’s ass and pulled him closer. “I cannot think of anything I would rather do. Some place extremely public. I am still learning Boston. Do you have a suggestion?”

“I think your apartment is two blocks from here.”

“That is rather the opposite of public,” George said, his hands running up and down over his ass, much to Ben’s delight.

Ben, after a year of looking at George in his office chair, his imagination ratcheted up an extraordinary degree, did what he had always longed to do to George in an office chair. Shoving George’s thighs together, Ben knelt on the chair, squirming until their chests were flush, their equally hard cocks pressing against each other. “You know, I don’t want to distract you from your work. We could just order something and have it sent here.” Ben rolled his hips forward, the hiss it elicited from George sending chills through his body even in the stuffy office.

“You are never a distraction, Benjamin.” George laced his fingers into Ben’s hair and pulled his head down for a slow, wet kiss. “You are, rather, everything I have ever wanted.”

Ben grinned as he began undoing George’s belt, longing to open his own pants and beg George to take them together in one of his amazing hands. George was so right—this was finally everything Ben had ever wished for. After an entire school year of heartache and desires, they could now have each other, openly and as often as they could pencil it in. Over the summer, Ben had spent as much time at his parents’ house as he had laying lazy and naked in George’s bed in New Haven. Being with George had proven even better than he had anticipated. George was beautiful and brilliant, which Ben, of course, had always known, but now Ben saw the fire that burned beneath the cool surface, along with the tenderness and compassion.

And the sex. Ben had managed to have a fair amount of sex in his life before this, but George was still a complete revelation. Inventive, reactive, and utterly insatiable, Ben usually ran out of steam, as it were, before George. At which point George suggested Ben take up the exercise regimen his ex-boyfriend the West Point professor with the sketchy East German resume had taught him. A bit lazy by nature, Ben had been crap about the early morning runs at home, but when he was visiting George, he had loved it, because it meant they could spend more time together. Here in Boston, they had already started meeting some mornings to run before class, but Ben was thinking about suggesting they shift at least few of those to afternoons after class.

It was amazing, being with George with no guilt and no concerns. They could just be happy and continue chasing more of what brought them joy. Ben had no idea how he had gotten so lucky.

Ben pulled his erection out of his pants and pressed it against George’s. Taking George’s hand from his ass, Ben wrapped it around their cocks, both already dripping pre-cum. “And you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” Ben paused to moan as he gripped George’s hand and pulled, showing him precisely what he wanted this exact minute. “You’re more than that. I didn’t even know some of these things existed _to_ want. I just didn’t even know.”

George took over the stroke and gently brushed his lips over Ben’s. “You could say you didn’t know what time it was. Another Rodgers and Hart classic.” His breath hitched as Ben bit his earlobe. “But we can save the musical theater discussion for another time.”

“Maybe this weekend, naked on your couch?”

“Yes. That sounds…” George shuddered, clasping them tighter. “Later. Yes. We can discuss it later.”

And they could. They had all the time in the world.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thanks a ton for reading, everyone who actually made it to this point! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> A final few notes:
> 
> A tenured, full professor inclined to history and criticism leaving the Yale Theater Department for BU would almost certainly never happen, merely because of the focus of the programs, but I made up a scenario for a move to BU anyway. Hope no one minds terribly.
> 
> And I don't think I ever explained why the series is called Bright College Years. That is the name of a traditional song from the school, much beloved by many students, including my husband, who will start singing it at the slightest provocation. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Inside baseball Yale stuff:  
> A senior thesis is an option at Yale instead of taking a senior seminar course. The vast majority of students take the class. Only massive overachievers choose to do what is essentially a Masters level thesis their senior year instead.  
> All students refer to Linsly-Chittenden Hall as LC, because what a mouthful. The rail fence is a Yale tradition, although the one Ben and Peggy sit on is not the original.  
> Handsome Dan is the name of Yale’s bulldog mascot.
> 
> Original characters in this fic will often be named after people my husband I knew at college. Jeri was a secretary in the building that housed the English Department and the office where I worked. She was unfailingly kind and always happy. She died from a blood clot after surgery a couple weeks before I graduated.
> 
> UPDATE (Oct. 23, 2018)  
> It was brought to my attention that I never mentioned why CATO, and why CATO is important. As Ben says, it’s a nearly forgotten play. In fact, pretty much the only people who still give it any thought are historians of late 18th Century America. Joseph Addison’s play was a huge hit in Colonial America, much beloved by Patriots for its story of a principled man standing up against tyranny. It was famously George Washington’s favorite play, and he even had it performed for the army the winter they spent at Valley Forge. Nathan Hale’s supposed final words that he regretted having only one life to lose for his country, whether he said them or they were later put in his mouth by a friend, were inspired by dialogue from CATO, a play Hale was extremely familiar with and likely would have been able to quote from memory. If a student were actually writing a thesis about this play today, its significance to American Revolutionaries would almost certainly be mentioned, although I’ve decided it would be too awkward to have Professor Washington talking about George Washington at Valley Forge, so I’m skipping that here. Although, Ben’s study of filial love in the play would certainly apply to the real Washington and his relationship with his men and America as a whole. Read the play for free at Project Gutenberg.


End file.
